


Adamant

by whizzy



Category: Captain America (2011), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-11
Updated: 2012-05-11
Packaged: 2017-11-05 04:51:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 60,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whizzy/pseuds/whizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anthony Stark, Lord of the city of Mainhett, undertakes an expedition to recover the lost shield of a legendary paladin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adamant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coinin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coinin/gifts).



> Written for the Captain America/Iron Man reverse bang, a fusion of those two movies with some comic elements.
> 
> This is shamefully late, for as you can see I went a bit overboard. A tremendous thanks to Coinin for being so patient, and throwing ideas at me, and encouraging me to run amok. This is at least half her fault. ([And her art, have I mentioned her utterly, utterly gorgeous art?](http://kikainausagi.livejournal.com/13743.html)) And Frostedelves is still the best hand-holder ever.
> 
> Podfic now also available, [read by Exmanhater](http://amplificathon.dreamwidth.org/2183388.html). It is fabulous, give it a listen!

[ ](http://kikainausagi.livejournal.com/13743.html)

  


_"There is a black crystal called Adamant or else Evax, on account of the joy which it is effectual in impressing on those who carry it. It is of an obscure and transparent blackness, the color of iron. It is the hardest of all; but is dissolved in the blood of a goat. Its size at the largest does not exceed that of a hazel nut."_

_-Aureolus Philippus Theophrastus Bombast, called Paracelsus the Great_

 

 

The lowest level of the palazzo had once held offices and workrooms. Anthony's second act upon inheriting his father's house had been to displace the clerks and recover those meaner apartments, claiming to enjoy the cool comfort they retained when the upper floors baked in summertime.

(His first act had been to commission a new forge, built to his monstrous and exacting designs; the proximity to and lack of annoying stairwells between the forge and his preferred chambers was no coincidence.)

This morning found him lingering over breakfast in one of his favorite parlors. His sociable mood was evidenced by the open-standing shutters, which presented him a clear view of the loggia and courtyard beyond.

"You've made black undershirts the fashion, you know."

The unusual greeting brought a smile to Anthony's lips. "Have I?" Of course he knew it, and was amused that where others spent fortunes to set the style, he did it through an accident of practicality.

His companion chose a seat at the long table, placing beside her the satchel she'd carried. "I liked you in white. At least then I could tell whether you were headed to or returning from your workshop."

He dutifully held up his hands, still clean. At work, they only remained so until some delicate task made him throw off the protection of his thick leather gauntlets. "The answer is both, always. Coffee?"

The woman made an indelicate sound that didn't match her appearance. Where Anthony lounged in an unlaced shirt and rough breeches, Virginia was decorous in a gown of tasteful silk. Likewise, they were too dissimilar to be kin, her hair pale copper and his dark. Nor were they wed, despite that she wore his keys on a chain at her waist. Instead of pantries they unlocked warehouses and ledger rooms and vaults.

"That stuff is not meant for a cultured palate."

"Then take it for its other excellent properties."

"Every drink you encounter has excellent properties," she muttered.

"Pardon me?"

"I said my mind is lively enough, thank you." She watched Anthony shrug and refill his own cup, adding spoon after spoon of sugar without a care for the cost. On the average day he drank away the salary of a good servant; she was glad to be his steward and not his majordomo. 

"What do you have?"

Virginia didn't pause in emptying her satchel. "Yesterday's missives, the usual matters."

"No, that one there." The packet Anthony indicated was coarse paper. He took it greedily and sliced the binding cord rather than break the hard clay seal. Re-sheathed, his knife seemed plain again, for its quality was all in the striking ruddy damask of the blade.

Silence descended and held. Now Virginia gave her attention. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no..." Anthony re-read the page, lips poring soundless over the text. His coffee cooled forgotten by his elbow. "The opposite. It's a clue I've long hoped to uncover. But I never imagined-" He stood, the motion levering him from stunned to decisive. "Send word to Captain Rhodes. I'm launching an expedition within the week."

  
~~~~~  
  


At a glance, no one would mark the man in deckhand's garb as the owner of the ship. Her captain, dark skinned and neatly uniformed, was the far more imposing of the pair standing at the helm. Yet the wheel turned at Anthony's direction, his precision with the quadrant uncanny for someone whose other chief skill as a sailor was dressing the part.

The ship was a caravel. Triple-masted and lightly burdened, she'd made astonishing progress, covering nearly fifty leagues per day. The eighth day had put her within sight of land, a jagged break in the horizon that grew more distinct even as Rhodes watched through his glass.

He lowered the instrument from his eye. "You are aware that island is nothing but rock."

Anthony demanded the glass by gesture and looked for himself. "Rock and just enough soil for some miserable plants to anchor their roots -- yes. I've read the histories." And not only the common works, but obscure unpublished accounts acquired at great trouble and expense. Fixed in his imagination was almost every step his quarry would have made on that bloody campaign, all except the critical last.

Finally, he might have that terminal chapter within reach.

Rhodes shook his head, hiding fondness. "Only Anthony Stark would cross the sea for no reason but to scale a mountain."

"No reason!"

"Three extra days -- four at most \-- and we could make the port at Ghes, fill the hold with dry goods." And because Rhodes knew them both well, he urged Anthony, "Think of Virginia's surprise if one of your 'expeditions' managed to turn a profit."

"I didn't come prepared for a financial venture. I have no capital."

"Your personal arms-" 

"Are not for sale."

"-could purchase the entire marketplace twice over."

Anthony clapped Rhodes on the shoulder. "My dear friend, knowledge is its own reward." But that was a pretty half-truth. He was a master craftsman who had bested all his teachers and exhausted every lesson available to him. What he pursued was a legend; what he _sought_ was a challenge. "I'm off to rouse Joyeux and begin preparations to disembark. Will you come ashore with us?"

Rhodes considered. The ship ran a small crew, all handpicked and proven loyal time and again. There would be no trouble leaving her in the care of his first mate... and it had been a while since he'd accompanied Anthony on a wild chase like the kinds prevalent in their youth. "I'm not a mountain goat," he reminded.

Anthony took that for the assent it was and, all eagerness, went below deck.

  
~~~~~  
  


"That's not a mountain. It's a mountain atop a cliff." Joyeux gaped to a standstill, as if he raised his eyes for the first time since helping to flip and drain their dinghy for storage. And perhaps he did. Immediately from the beach the terrain turned bad. To not watch one's footing was to invite misstep and injury.

Anthony slapped water from his breeches. He'd already stripped to the waist, and Joyeux had emulated him; Rhodes would do nothing so undignified while still within sight of his crew. "Don't forget, there's an old fortress atop everything else. Think of the trial it would have been to assault such a position!"

Joyeux groaned.

"Luck is on our side," Anthony continued the lecture. "This inhospitable lump lost all strategic import when Heidrax consolidated its empire." An empire that had conquered like wildfire and burned out just as quick. It was little remembered now; and even less was said in the histories of the defenders who had clung to this barren outpost, beaten but refusing to accept defeat. Massacre or starvation under siege: between those options, Anthony couldn't say which he would choose. "We're probably the first to set foot here in years."

"First of the living," Rhodes said. He pressed forward, unperturbed by the thought of ghosts. In that regard, his mind was almost as rational as Anthony's.

"Did you have to do that?" Anthony hissed, giving chase. "Joyeux will tire himself seeing spirits behind every rock."

Rhodes countered, "You'll do the same, hunting for the gods only know what, because you refuse to say."

"Fair enough. The army that fell here..." Anthony tried a different tack. "If you give credence to the tales..."

"More fantastic than ghosts?" Trust Rhodes to guess the trouble wasn't finding the words, but worry for how foolish they might sound given breath.

"I need to see the fortress with my own eyes, determine how it was brought down. Then I'll know if the particular story I follow has the potential of being a true account."

"And if it does?"

Anthony looked back at his tarrying manservant. "It will be good at least two of us won't quail to disturb the rest of the dead."

  
~~~~~  
  


Horses would never have made the ascent. Around his fatigue and straining heart, Anthony could spare admiration for the two armies that had once labored on the same path. Those warriors would have been outfitted for battle, where Anthony's small band was but lightly armed and provisioned.

They spent the night in a lee between boulders, Joyeux keeping too near the fire he tended like an anxious nurse. The next morning, Anthony faced downhill and was surprised that he could no longer glimpse the sea, as the ruined fortress above seemed no closer than when they'd begun.

Before midday, Rhodes gave up and shed his doublet, saying that he feared to tear it on rocks. While waiting for him to fold it safe away, Anthony swung his attention up slope.

"Do you see spirits?" Joyeux asked. Every moan and howl of the wind, which was very strong, made his restless eyes seek out some new shadow to examine.

"None. And if there were, they should cower at the sight of _you_. You are powerful made, and a ferocious brawler by your own account. What was it, seven foes at once?"

"Five -- it was five." The boast was never the same twice. "I dread nothing that can feel the sting of my fists."

Rhodes settled his pack, ready to move again. "There will be no trouble with ghosts during daytime. The touch of the sun burns them."

"You are not helping."

"Is that my glass?"

Anthony looked at the instrument as if unsure how it had come to his hand. "Is it?"

"When did you...?"

"Come. I want to reach the foundation while there is still light. Spirits may like the dark, but my eyes do not."

The lasting summer day gave Anthony his wish. Before dusk, he was clambering over tumbled masonry, his companions trailing him with long-practiced patience for his antics. "The engines would have sat there -- at least, that is where I would place them for greatest effect -- which means the damage should have concentrated... here." He glared at a thin wall, still intact.

"What engines?" Rhodes asked. "I see no trees to build them."

"They would have been imported, naturally. Perhaps even primitive cannons."

"And brought up that path?"

"I could have found a way," Anthony persisted.

Joyeux said, as if Anthony could not hear, "He forgets that not all engineers are his equal."

"You credit him with that much modesty?"

"Feh! I'm a metallurgist, not an engineer."

"If you say, m'lord."

The more he noticed, the more Anthony's hope grew. "And see, there's something odd about this breach. These finer ashlar would have formed the battlement, but the direction in which they fell makes no sense, unless..." No, his first instincts were seldom wrong. "The wall was weakened from within."

Now Rhodes grew curious. Before he was a mariner he had apprenticed in the Stark workshops, but that martial industry had died with old Howard. "Perhaps it was, after the gate fell."

"The gate didn't fall to a ram. It was cleverly made, taking protection from the natural rock formation. In fact, I think held fast."

"Considering the gate itself is long disintegrated, _I_ think it's all conjecture at best."

Anthony's grin was broad and sly.

"You're concealing something. What more do you know?"

"It's a long tale. You'll have it with supper -- though Joyeux will probably grow bored and fall to sleep before it's done."

  
~~~~~  
  


Over a full stomach and a skin of watered wine, Anthony showed the letter.

Rhodes lounged back, his knife coaxing a game piece from driftwood he'd found on the beach. "A lost knight? Those litter history as common as shipwrecks."

"Ah, not just a knight, but one renowned for his noble heart and piety: a true paladin."

"And he's worth your interest because he was so skilled at 'kneeling in prayer'? Oh, was he chaste, too? That would be an intriguing quality to someone of your-"

"Choose carefully what you say next," Anthony play-growled.

It made Rhodes hesitate. "-worldly nature."

"A fine recovery. Are you finished?"

"Mm."

Across the fire, Joyeux made a grumble that turned into a snore.

"Good," Anthony said. "He won't like to hear that I intend to rob a grave tomorrow."

_"What?"_

"Shh, I'm after a less grisly sort of relic. You see, the paladin was said to have carried the favor of his patron in the form of a sacred shield. It was divinely forged from the body of a plummeted star, craftsmanship of the like never seen before or since. While he carried it, he was protected from falling in battle -- or so the legend goes."

Rhodes studied Anthony's expression. "It sounds absurd. You can't believe it."

"No, but I believe that legends can be founded on extraordinary truth. Imagine a demonstration of saltpeter if you didn't comprehend its elemental properties. How would you explain it?"

"I take your point."

Anthony drew his knees up to his chin, dark eyes drinking in the firelight. "I wonder what shape it will have. It's said that it could turn any blow and never show a dent."

"The style will be old," Rhodes warned. "Don't expect otherwise." If the thing hadn't succumbed to rust. If it was buried on the island at all.

"I wonder what the alloy is, how it was worked."

"You talk as though it is already in your hands."

"It will be. If not the morrow, then one day."

  
~~~~~  
  


"It won't be a cairn, and it won't be excavated," Anthony said, drawing a rough map that divided the summit in three sections, one for each. "We'll find our knight in a natural crevice, the entrance probably sealed. Look for stones the size a man could carry, all piled together. There will be no other decoration to mark it.

"Shall we wager on who will make the discovery? No? Then let's be off." 

Joyeux, as predicted, had wanted no part in opening a tomb. He was too good and loyal to take Anthony's pity and return to the ship, although he moaned far more than he searched.

It was Rhodes had the luck. On a hunch, he followed striations in the bare mountainside until he found one that widened vertical; blocking it was a jumble of stones, just as Anthony had guessed. But to be sure, he climbed and loosened the topmost stones, which stood above his head. Those that tumbled inside had a long and noisy fall, striking echos in a hollow space.

He stood back and whistled a signal.

Soon Anthony came skidding down the hillside, short of breath. "Did you--?" He saw the opening. "Yes, oh yes!"

"We'll need a lamp. It's black in there."

"Joyeux has one. Joyeux, where are you? Hurry!"

Joyeux was reluctant to arrive, and Anthony's patience had been short to start. At once he began enlarging the entrance, flinging stones about with his bare hands. Though his stature was ordinary, years at the forge had hardened him; and he was not too haughty for crude labor when it suited his goal.

When the gap was barely six hands across, Anthony made to slither through like a reptile.

Rhodes wrested him back. "Fool, you're diving headfirst into the unknown. Wait for a light."

"Joyeux!"

"Here I am."

Anthony insisted on lighting the lamp, sure he could do it quickest. He climbed up and put the flame through the entrance, and then his head. "Hold my legs. If there's danger you can pull me back out."

"I could go first," Rhodes suggested, though he knew it was futile.

"Nonsense. It's my venture. If we activate a curse or rouse an angry spirit, the penalty should be mine."

"My concern was for foul vapors or unstable rock."

Anthony's shoulders were his broadest part. He curled them to fit, and then he was through to the waist. "The flame burns true -- the air is pure. I can make out the floor, not far. Let me in more!"

Joyeux and Rhodes each had a leg, then an ankle. "Any more and we'll drop you!"

"Do it!"

Rhodes held on to the last, nearly kicked for his trouble. Anthony's hiss accompanied the noise of shifting pebbles, but his light was steady.

"Are you well?" Rhodes peered inside.

There was no answer.

Joyeux gripped his sword hilt, ready to draw. "My lord?"

"You must see this." Anthony's voice was hoarse with emotion.

"I will. Assist me." But Rhodes had to crawl through without even the aid of light, for Anthony remained at the rear of the tomb, locked in contemplation.

Rhodes could stand upright and not touch the walls if he spread both arms. The space was several times as deep as it was wide, ending in a natural apse. Or perhaps not quite natural -- the ground was level, the walls smooth without signs of being worked. It could have been done by the action of water, but there was no trace of moisture; besides, the sea could never have risen so far.

It was a puzzle Anthony would normally be keen to attack, but a greater mystery gripped him. He motioned for Rhodes, never looking away from the sight before him.

Rhodes approached, but not so near as Anthony, who could have reached and touched the sarcophagus. "It looks one piece, although there must be a seam." The miasma of the place made him speak softly. "We'll need tools to open it."

"That is no effigy. Look closer."

Indeed, detail was lost in the faint light, but Rhodes could see that what he'd mistaken for a carven figure was instead a shrouded corpse, arranged to perfect symmetry. He shivered.

Anthony lifted the edge of the pall, rubbing it between his fingers. "Linen, fair quality. Are you ready?"

"No, but do it anyway, before I change my mind and rejoin Joyeux in the daylight."

Anthony flung back the pall; he and Rhodes alike drew sharp breaths. "There it is! After searching so far, the moment hardly feels real."

"Gods," Rhodes said fervently.

"It proves the stories are embellished; but I quite like the paradox of an invincible knight interred with the very aegis that was supposed to sustain him."

"Something awful was wrought here."

"Ahh, it's a rotella, not an obsolete design at all. The enamel is so bright. And look at his plate, a fine antique rendition of elegance through function. Here, take the lamp. I must-" 

_"Anthony."_

Anthony was bent over, still looking only because he couldn't decide where to commit the first touch. "I hear you."

"Then heed me. Notice the face of your saint."

"My... saint?" Another sound of wonder escaped Anthony, for where there should have been the macabre grin of a skeleton, the knight's countenance was unravaged by decay. A well-made jaw framed lips full and sanguine; above that, a proud nose and flaxen brow. The whole achieved a particular harmony. "Heaven above, a more comely corpse I've never met."

Rhodes drew a quick sign of obeisance. "It disturbs me, but I imagine he could rise up and begin speaking! And what is that scent?" Verdant and sweet, it had no apparent source. 

"I detect it too." Anthony hesitated. "I... find myself loathe to disrupt this memorial."

"That relieves me."

"But the shield--!" Anthony allowed his fingertips to brush its face.

> _"Stephen..."_
> 
> _He knew Her call with the core of his being -- She who had first recognized his worth, and raised him from obscurity to greatness. "Mother?"_
> 
> _"My fairest, your sacrifice was terrible and your rest well-earned. I'm sorry to take it from you."_
> 
> _Her caress both soothed and inflamed, for that was the duality at Her crux. He felt his soul tremble._
> 
> _"My purpose for you is not yet finished. You must continue."_
> 
> _"Command me, Mother. I only pray for Your grace to uphold me."_
> 
> _"You have it. Now, open your eyes..."_

"I could make an exchange, my shield for this one. Surely that would appease whatever power has preserved him here."

"Hst, have more care."

"I have the utmost- Oh, it weighs nothing!"

Rhodes cried and shrank back, almost extinguishing the light in his haste. "The body stirs... it wakes! Anthony, get away!"

Warned too late, Anthony was caught stupefied with the shield in his clutch.

The paladin surged to his feet, fully hale and steady. "Where am I? What is this place? The last thing I knew..." He shook his head as if to clear the vestiges of some spell. 

"Incredible," Anthony breathed. Caution abandoned, he closed with the creature. "Can I believe my eyes? I must test-"

Suddenly, the paladin's presence seemed to take up the whole sepulcher, for he'd realized what Anthony held. "Thief, vandal! How dare you desecrate that which She entrusted me!" He tore the shield away and struck Anthony down with the same motion, as easily as a bending a stalk of wheat.

"Specter, leave him and face me!"

"Rhodes, no!" Anthony regained his senses just in time to see the throw.

Rhodes was a good swordsman but a better tactician; he'd chosen the lamp over his steel. It shattered on the paladin's shield, the fuel igniting at once in a gout of dazzling flame.

Liquid fire adhered where it splashed. The paladin could not be unburned, yet his roar was all fury. "I'm... trapped? You should know your treachery can't contain me from the battle! I vowed to hold that ground and I will, to the last... drop of blood in me!" With the final words he put his shoulder behind the shield, charged the tomb's blocked entrance, and-

"Impossible. He's broke through."

A scream issued.

"I hope Joyeux is unhurt."

Rhodes skirted still-burning puddles to assist Anthony. "What about you? I thought you'd been brained."

"So you react by setting a man aflame?"

"What else should I have done? Man or apparition, I had to divert him."

Anthony looked to the ruin of the entrance. "I'm glad you did. The stories have right his monstrous strength, but they may... exaggerate his gentle disposition."

"Think you?" Rhodes said dryly.

"Ow, don't make me smile; my lip's split."

"Better than your skull." He pulled at Anthony. "Come outside so I can inspect you."

"We should rescue Joyeux, too."

"And what should we do with Sir Nightmare?"

"I'm damned if I know."

  
~~~~~  
  


They discovered Joyeux creeping back to the cave as from a headlong flight. "My lord, what has happened to you?"

"A battering ram of a knight, blazing as if hell-sprung. Perhaps you witnessed it?"

Joyeux's fingers sketched a ward against evil. "It shot off in that direction. I went opposite."

"Hold still," Rhodes chided. "Your nose is bloodied, too."

"I hope not broken; that would be a lamentable fashion to set."

"Never fear, you're still pretty."

"Hmph."

Joyeux produced a cloth to mop the blood and took Anthony's face over from Rhodes. "My lord, what was that thing, truly?"

"I won't know until I study it."

Rhodes stared down to a set of heavy footprints in the dust. "How did I know that would be your answer?"

"Because you know me?" Anthony snatched the cloth. "Enough of your ministrations already!"

"Very well, m'lord." Joyeux showed his displeasure in an insolent tone without fear of being cuffed for it. Anthony never cowed those in his service, and even regarded the ones nearest him as his friends.

When he stepped into one of the prints, Rhodes' foot seemed slight in comparison. He frowned. "If you plan to confront that thing, do so on equal terms. Send to the ship for your armor."

"Equal?" Anthony sniffed. "That would put Sir Nightmare at a great disadvantage. Besides, I won't waste the time. I've already lost sight of the quarry; I want to find him again before the sun's had a chance to burn him up. Let's go."

Not far along, the knight's trail wavered as if confused. Rhodes followed it as it trampled back on itself. "Is this the end? If the sun got him, would there be evidence left behind?"

"No, it picks up here," Anthony called. "He's running -- his stride is immense, to clear that ravine. I think I'll take an easier route."

"You know where he's heading?"

Anthony pointed uphill. "The fortress. Where else?"

Indeed, after a stealthy approach, they discovered the knight kneeling over his shield in the center of the ruined courtyard. Rhodes took cover behind some masonry, wishing Anthony would do the same. "Has he spied us?"

"I can't say. There's been no reaction."

Rhodes popped his head up. "What's he doing?"

"Praying? At least it resembles the less-solitary act I know," Anthony grinned. "Here, I'll ask him." Before he could be cautioned, he called out, "Sir Knight! My companion wishes to know your business!"

"That's done it." Rhodes went for his sword. "It'd have been more subtle to lob a rock at him."

"That was my next plan."

But the knight made no motion, gave no sign he was aware of his surroundings at all.

"Sir Nightmare? Hello?" Anthony tried again. When that also failed, he hefted a rock the size of an egg.

"Gods, you're serious."

"Be prepared to run."

Joyeux had a twenty pace head start when the missile flew. After a moment, and seeing the others remain in place, he returned. "Did it hit?"

"I wasn't aiming to hit him, just get his attention."

"It missed," Rhodes said.

"It landed beneath his nose! There is no way he didn't see it." Anthony scrambled inside the courtyard. He noticed Rhodes at his elbow, steel drawn. "Hey, you there."

The knight swayed, then stood as if by great effort. He had no weapon other than the shield, held low and conciliatory in his dominant hand. "You may approach without fear," he said. "I mean you no harm."

Rhodes murmured, "Don't trust it."

"No _further_ harm, I think you mean," Anthony said. "Why should we trust your assurance?"

"My mistake has been... corrected." The knight's head remained bent in contrition, his gaze averted. "I am ashamed for my conduct."

"Well... I'm convinced."

"Anthony-"

"What? He admitted his wrongdoing. If he'd wanted us to believe him on the strength of his word and his honor, _then_ I would be suspicious."

The knight lifted his eyes and stared, bemused. Back and forth he looked between the pair, finally choosing on Rhodes, to whom he bowed deep. "Sir, I am heartfelt sorry for the hurt I caused your man. Please tell me how I should make amends."

Anthony squawked and puffed out his chest. "I am Anthony Stark." He waited. "The name means nothing to you."

"I'm sorry, should it?"

Rhodes broke out in laughter, throwing the poor knight into greater confusion. "I'll leave you to explain," he said, sheathing his blade.

"Lord over the city of Mainhett? Howard was my father?"

"Ah, my lord," the knight began.

Anthony waved him off. "Tell me your name and you'll call me Anthony, same as the rest of this rabble. Here is my captain, Rhodes. He does look _respectable,_ " the word was gritted, "in his uniform, doesn't he? And my manservant Joyeux approaches."

"Stephen, an it please you, sir."

"Mmn." Anthony walked a circle around the man. "From whence? I feel I should recognize the origin of your plate, but I can't place it."

Stephen craned his neck to watch the circuit. "I've been restless my whole life, wandering where my patron Mother bids me."

"A devout paladin." Anthony gave a look to Rhodes which said, _See, I was right._ He halted in front of Stephen, quite close, and gamely stretched out his hand. "I already know you're solid, but are you flesh and blood?"

Stephen held exquisitely still while Anthony pressed his cheek and watched the flesh spring back, several times.

"You don't feel like a spirit." Nor did he flush like one, healthy with blood.

"I'm not one," Stephen insisted. Then, becoming uncertain, he asked, "Why do you need to test it?"

"Why did we find you sealed in a tomb?"

"I... don't know."

"What did you expect to see when you burst out and ran up to this ruined castle?"

"I can't say."

Anthony's eyes narrowed. "What is the year?"

"I-" Stephen's voice grew harsh. "It's the eighth of Schmidt's cruel reign."

Rhodes made a choked sound. He whispered, "Wasn't that the Emperor of Heidrax?"

Stephen heard it. " _Was?_ What do you mean?" He pleaded with Anthony, "If you know what transpired here, tell me!"

"This will sound fantastic," Anthony warned. "Oh hells, what isn't fantastic about a man who was suspended between life and death? Schmidt has long been consigned to dust, and Heidrax fell with him. From what I can guess, you slept undisturbed almost a century."

  
~~~~~  
  


After that, Stephen grew disconsolate. He asked Anthony's excuse and moved apart, taking to his knees in prayer again. And he remained there for hours.

From their camp across the courtyard, Anthony watched him often. "When do you think he'll be done?"

Joyeux split a ship's biscuit to exchange with Rhodes for a hunk of cheese. "It would help to know what he's doing."

"He's speaking to himself," Rhodes said. "You can see his lips move."

"You see like a eagle," Tony said. He stole what remained of the cheese and took up a water skin. "By now his throat must be parched and his stomach empty."

"You just want a better look now that he's removed his helm."

Anthony's grin flashed. "That notion had occurred to me." However, when he approached the knight his levity faded at the sight Stephen's face. It was very fair in a masculine sense, but what gave Anthony pause were the dried tear-marks belying its otherwise serenity.

Stephen noted Anthony's approach dully, as if he lacked the fortitude for company. He waited to see what Anthony would do.

"I thought you might be hungry." Even though Stephen bent his knees to another, it was still odd to stand over his supplication, so Anthony sat in the dirt to put them on more even level. He offered the food.

"I... I can't recall when last I ate." The realization surprised him. "Thank you."

Anthony deliberately looked elsewhere while Stephen devoured the cheese. "There's more at our camp. You should come join us at the fire."

"It wouldn't be the right atmosphere. I wish to mourn alone."

Anthony could understand a hint without taking it. "Whom do you mourn? Did you leave behind a wife and children?"

"No. No, my heart is pledged-"

"Because you should know, your actions on that day succeeded. Whatever you did to stem the enemy horde, it gave your people the reprieve they needed to safely reach their approaching ships."

Stephen was shocked into searching Anthony's face. "How can _you_ know that? I scarcely remember the battle, and to me it was yesterday." He admitted, "I would never have struck you if I'd been in my right mind. When I woke, my only clear thought was that I was surrounded by foes on all sides."

"Rhodes tells me you didn't ruin my pulchritude, so I can't hold a grudge. I hope you'll likewise forgive being set aflame."

"Your man only acted in defense of his lord."

"That was a- Never mind. Wait and I'll show you." Anthony made a trip to the camp and returned with his letter, which he attempted to give Stephen. "Go on, can you read it?"

A head shake: no.

"Ah, then I'll tell you what it says. It's the conclusion of an exchange I had with a woman named Bernes."

Stephen's hand shot out and gripped Anthony's forearm.

"Should I stop?"

"Please don't. Just- That name!" Now Stephen took the letter, tracing the words while Anthony spoke.

"I've been searching for you -- for your shield, in truth -- for a while. You left a small but intriguing impression in the histories. Alas, when your trail vanished I took my hunt in the wrong direction, thinking your equipment would have been taken as spoils of war. Bernes at last gave me a true account of the battle's outcome, and what occurred in the aftermath. It's a tale that's been passed down generations of her family."

"The Bernes I know- knew was James." Stephen's voice came as if from a distance. "It hurt him to be forcibly sent away with the rest, but knowing he stood a chance made my task easier to bear."

"He returned," Anthony said, "when he was able, determined to honor what remained of you, if anything. Imagine his astonishment when he discovered your lifeless body intact, protected against all ravages although it lay in the open where your enemies should have seen it."

Stephen whispered, "He buried me. Oh, Mother!"

Anthony said gently, "He did, and mourned you, and preserved your memory to his children, and his children's children." More than loyalty, that had been love.

"Then it's true. Everyone I knew is gone." Stephen buried his face in the letter, his shoulders trembling in a silent keen.

That grief at least was genuine, and too private to witness. Having resolved what he'd set out to, Anthony crept away.

  
~~~~~  
  


It was full night when Stephen joined the camp, his heartache for the moment wrung out. Without a word he chose a place at the edge of the firelight's reach, resting his back against a bit of stone.

He'd feared to grow confused once the sun set, but everywhere were reminders that this was not the same courtyard he remembered. Plants sprang where before a hundred purposeful feet would have trampled them; brazen wild creatures made their nests where once human bustle had kept them at bay. The wind tasted desolate, and carried no other sounds but its own voice.

Anthony, who'd seemed asleep, pushed up on an elbow to regard Stephen with a half-lidded gaze. "So, you finally deign to join us. And none too soon -- the invitation was set to expire at midnight."

Stephen gave up shifting in search of a comfortable position. "It was?"

"No, it wasn't," Rhodes told him. "And Anthony should know better than to toy with someone unaccustomed to him."

"Those who are accustomed to me are no sport," Anthony grumbled. "But to be clear, Stephen, you're welcome in my train for as long as it suits you. Don't think of me just as a means to get off this rock."

Stephen bowed his head. "I'm grateful." His Mother oft opened paths for him without making clear what he should do beyond the first step. "For now, I feel my purpose lies with yours -- and I won't be a burden. Let me earn my upkeep with the strength of my back and the protection of my shield."

"You're supposed to earn your keep?" Anthony asked Rhodes. "Then, we've had our arrangement all wrong."

"I... commit myself in earnest, always." Stephen was unused to being made light of, as he sensed was happening now.

"Always in _every_ endeavor?" Mischief curled Anthony's mouth. It was as expressive as the rest of him, and attired in a neat, black beard. Stephen had seen it be audacious and benign by turns; he could imagine it set in wickedness too easily for his liking.

Rhodes forestalled Anthony by flicking a petal of wood at him, whittle blade flashing. " _Milord_ will be more settled in the morn when he's slept off his wine."

"You should sleep too," Anthony advised Stephen sagely. "You'll get no rest in your armor. Why, you should have shed it hours ago." He made as if to rise. "I'm the man to help you, being something of an expert."

Stephen prepared to rise also, but to escape Anthony's determined assistance. "Please don't trouble yourself! I've had enough... sleep of late." He dreaded succumbing to it again, and the dreams it would bring. "I'd rather stay ready and vigilant."

"You could share my cloak," Anthony persisted.

"Anthony..."

"Or Joyeux's. Or yours, Rhodes."

"Pay him no heed when he's in this mood. As you've thrown your lot with ours, it's the first lesson you should learn."

But Stephen was unable. "Please leave the matter," he murmured, resettling his shield across his lap. He traced the star device embossed at its center, an act which always lent him peace.

"Fine, have your way." Anthony wrapped himself back in his cloak, pulling it full over his head. "Just don't complain of chafing and bruises on the morrow."

"I won't."

"I'll hold you to your word."

"I never break it."

"Good."

From across the fire, Rhodes caught Stephen's eye in sympathy.

  
~~~~~  
  


They struck camp with the dawn, Anthony all eagerness to re-meet his ship.

Stephen held back to make some private farewell to the ruins and ghosts, though he soon caught up the party despite his insistence to keep in his armor. The easier descent was still treacherous, but his stride wouldn't accept that he was hindered more than the rest of them.

They stopped again in that same hillside lee, Joyeux making a fire on the ashes of the last. Again Stephen sat guard, shield never from his hand. He rested his eyes, yet seemed no less alert for it.

"If his stubbornness causes him to collapse before the ship, I'd be tempted to leave him," Anthony whispered to Rhodes.

Sure enough, Stephen's mouth thinned, the reaction so slight that Anthony had to be expecting it to notice.

"More than once you've exhausted yourself and dropped for the same reason," Rhodes reminded, "and we never left you."

"That's different."

"It is, because I suspect he knows his limits better than you acknowledge yours."

On the final day, Anthony's anticipation grew twofold: first to be homeward-bound, and second to deliver an ultimatum upon that incorrigible knight. Near the start of the beach, Anthony turned and blocked his way. "You know, sea water can ruin armor. Salt and wet in combination act badly on base metals."

Stephen touched the lip of his shield with his off hand. "Are we to swim out to your ship? I thought I heard mention of a dinghy."

"There is one," Rhodes said, prim once again in his doublet. "I'm off to inspect it."

"Then-"

Anthony's fists went to his hips. If he couldn't be taller than Stephen, he could attempt to be broader. "You couldn't swim in your plate anyway."

"I won't admit being unable unless I've tried and failed."

"Tried and drowned, you mean. Go overboard with that weight and there's no hope of being fished back out. It will have to come off. Joyeux?"

"Here."

"Help me dismantle Stephen."

"I can manage most on my own," Stephen insisted.

But Anthony would not be swayed. He attacked the buckles, examining and muttering over each piece as it passed through his hands to Joyeux. "Pauldrons of the former style... and what is this cuirass made of, lead?" He rapped on the decorated star at its center.

"My armor's served me well through many perils. There's naught wrong with it."

"It might have _sufficed_ you," Anthony said, testing the articulation of a couter, "but it's too heavy. I could make better." Admittedly, the design was sound, if old; the largest improvement would be in a different material.

Stephen hurried to get to his cuisses before Anthony could, the ties being in a delicate location. "I don't mind the weight." He stopped. "You're a smith?"

"A smith? Ha!"

Even Joyeux laughed at that.

"That is the least of it. It's said I'm so attuned to metal that it forms itself to please me -- which of course is false. The truth is, I-" Anthony was rarely disinclined to parade his accomplishments, but the chiefest of all was a secret process he clasped tight to his chest. He recalled that Stephen's circumstances had not been explained to his rational satisfaction; and a pretty package was best to conceal sinister ends. "-I make study of the elements and their alloys. My steel performs better because it begins better."

Stephen was down to his arming coat and hose, but he'd refused to let go his shield, which he secured across his back. "I see."

"I doubt it. But stay with me long enough and you might."

Rhodes returned, sand clinging to him in places. "The dinghy's sound, and I've had signal from the ship."

"Then let's be off this rock."

Stephen put aside his bundled armor when the others moved to right the dingy. "Here, allow me."

"You can have that end," Rhodes pointed. "We'll flip it this way."

"No, I meant- Stand clear." He crouched, fixed his hold, and tossed the boat over as if it was made of paper.

Rhodes looked at Anthony, his eyebrows halfway up his forehead.

"Should I drag it to the water, too?"

"P-Please."

That wasn't the end. Stephen bade them all climb in while the boat was still beached, as there was no point in drenching more of them than necessary, and shoved them off alone. Neither coaxing nor the threat of salt damage could remove the shield from him. It stayed on his back as he trudged, then swam. Waves swamped him until the only visible part left was his bright turtle's shell, but he persevered through the surf break to the calmer seas beyond.

When he finally hauled himself into the boat, his chest was heaving with great breaths; and his grin, Anthony thought, could dazzle the sun.

"Did my eyes just see that?" Rhodes whispered.

"Was the launch smooth?" Stephen rubbed back his sodden hair with a sleeve. "I've never before tried it."

"Ah." The man was now mundanely dripping water everywhere, yet Anthony still couldn't compel his gaze away. "It was... tolerable."

Rhodes leaned forward. "Have you ever considered making your way as a sailor?"

"Not at all." Stephen chased Joyeux aside and took the oars; the boat leaped ahead with his first pull. "But if that is the direction my Mother bids me, I'll go."

"What chance I could, er, have words with her?"

Anthony clapped Rhodes on the thigh. "Give it up! Though Stephen is flotsam, his feet need the feel of firm earth beneath them. I can ascertain that much of his nature."

"Milord is correct," Stephen murmured. And, after a moment, "It's too familiar to call him Anthony."

"I beg pardon?"

"What? Oh, I-" Stephen coughed a little. "I apologize for... speaking my thoughts."

Anthony should like to hear his name from Stephen's lips more often, but an equally odd impulse kept him from insisting on it.

Rhodes took over rowing when they neared the ship, for aligning the two vessels took skill. He raised the oars at last, and the dinghy glided to a gentle halt.

"As neat a maneuver as I've seen," Anthony said, helping Joyeux to secure them from drifting. He ducked away from the rope ladder that was dropped down; it slapped and clattered against the ship's hull. "First I think I'll visit the larder. I've been dreaming of coffee with clotted cream. You?"

"My soft bunk." Rhodes held the ladder stable for Anthony's ascent.

"You'd fall to bed and leave me to get us under sail?"

"Well, when you- Anthony! Let go the rope!"

The alarm in Rhodes' voice shot Stephen to his feet; his scramble caused the dinghy to buck and toss.

"What?" Anthony looked down beneath his elbow. If he'd raised his head, he would have noticed the two sailors reaching over the rail for him.

"Those aren't my crewmen! They're gods-damned pirates disguised to look alike!"

Anthony made to jump, but was caught by the scruff instead and rudely hauled on deck. There, he found himself restrained by the same pair of raiders. 

A third, better clothed and with gold hoops in his ears, introduced Anthony to his knife's edge. "I have Lord Stark at my mercy!" he bellowed. "Pass up your arms and surrender. Struggle and his throat's slit."

  
~~~~~  
  


"Will you _stop_ your prowling? I feel as if I'm caged with a peevish, overgrown lion."

Stephen halted just as he was ducking beneath a beam. There were few places in the hold that would allow him to stand full upright. "My apologies. I am unused to such treatment."

"So are we all! Yet you alone must move and move and move; the noise of your manacles grates on my patience."

Stephen sat with Joyeux against the foundation of the mainmast. "I'll desist." Yet he could not be wholly still, twisting the wide iron cuffs that bit into his wrists. "They took my shield."

"They took all our arms," Rhodes said. He was the most composed of the captives, his ear lifted with interest to the bustle on deck.

"I could have beaten them," Stephen said. "Why did you hold me back?"

"You'd take on nine men?" Joyeux asked, for six more raiders had quickly joined the three. 

Anthony drawled, "There exists, apparently, a fine line between the marvellous and the preposterous. Joyeux should school you in the braggart's art."

But it made him think: the particular amount sent to subdue them was significant. If it had been he and Rhodes and Joyeux, returning as they'd set out, that would have made three for each. Stephen's accidental inclusion had unbalanced the numbers.

"It's no boast. I could take twice as many and win."

"With your insane strength, if you had the conditions to your favor... perhaps," Rhodes allowed. "But you'd be a fool to go bare-handed-"

"There's my shield."

"-against long steel and powder; I spied two wheellocks for certain in the crowd. Worse, you'd be a murderer with Anthony's blood on your conscience. He'd have dropped to the deck lifeless ere you raised your fists."

"I noticed them too. Uncommon fine weapons for common rabble," Anthony said. "And delicate for conditions at sea."

Stephen outward seemed restrained; it was only his voice that quivered with affront. "I would _never-_ I'd sooner slit my own throat than have my companions come to harm through some act or inaction of mine. When I say I'd have recovered Lord Stark unscathed, you should accept it as fact."

Rhodes said, "If you confuse fact with chance, you're a bigger fool than I made you." 

"Enough." Meaning to rub his temple, Anthony instead got a poked eye, for his manacles had attached leather mittens. So encumbered, he could not hope to manipulate an escape. "Oh, curse these... things!"

"Lord Stark." That tension overran Stephen's whole body; poor Joyeux shrank beside him. "I can free us even now. Give the command and you'll see."

A terrible whisper stirred in Anthony's mind: _Yes, he could do it._ His blood quickened to imagine what it would be to unleash such a maelstrom. "I- No... not yet." That concession was like a reprieve, returning his thoughts to normal. He blinked.

"Damn, I know that cloud on your face. Is it your hea-"

"It's nothing," Anthony told Rhodes firmly. "I'm fine."

"If you say." Rhodes glowered at Stephen as if the man had acquired fresh fault.

But Stephen would only look to Anthony; whatever he saw caused him to at last subside.

  
~~~~~  
  


"Hear you that?"

Rhodes sat with Anthony in the ladderwell. "Aye, first the anchor and now the sails. We're under way."

"No, the watch bell. That's thrice it's rung since we were stowed down here." Less than two hours all told. It seemed much longer.

"You're not... concerned."

"To be under way? Call me curious instead that it's not the other ship joining us."

"I did wonder where she's hid, to have escaped our elevated sight from that rock."

"You can ask your crew when we have them returned safe."

Rhodes nudged Anthony, discreetly turning his attention to Stephen. "Ah. So that's why you held Sir Nightmare."

"You sail under my colors; they're my men also. I'd not abandon them to spare my own hide. But! Before you accuse me of excessive humanity, recall that this hold was not empty when we left it." Everything had been removed from it and stashed elsewhere, not only the goods of value. There remained not so much as a loose nail wedged between planks.

"Your armor," Rhodes said.

"My armor," Anthony repeatedly darkly. "I'd wager a fortune it and the men are aboard that ship we sail to meet." The same one they'd never have found if they'd retaken their own caravel premature.

"And then?"

"I'll turn that question back to you, along with what clues I have. One: our vile captors greeted me by name."

"I do fly your colors, which are not unknown in these waters."

Anthony displayed his unusual bindings. "Two: they knew the clever reputation of my hands."

Rhodes pondered that.

"Three: they took every bit of sharpened steel between us, yet left you your silver buttons and me my pearl eardrop. Do those points together equal a convenient act of piracy to you?"

"No. Every way I add them I see a trap, special laid."

And therein was the worst of Anthony's misgivings. "Tell me, before we sailed, who knew of our destination?"

"Anthony. We were out a day before you quit your teasing and divulged it to _me._ So mine are blameless."

"That leaves Virginia, myself, the woman Bernes... and anyone who had chance to view her letter." True, it had arrived to his hand sealed, but an impression in clay was simple to counterfeit. Say an unscrupulous messenger had copied the letter along its path. The duplicate must have flown to its destination, for Anthony had moved with haste upon receiving the original and had still been caught up by his foe in the end.

_Caught up... with my ship launched on whim and racing like the wind? And she was taken unawares without damage or a fight._

"Balls of an impotent tax collector. Stane's behind this."

  
~~~~~  
  


There came a series of thuds and scrapes on the deck; when the ship shuddered to her timbers, Anthony placed the sound as that of grapple hooks.

"Brace yourselves," Rhodes warned.

The impact of the two ships meeting abreast could take a man off his feet -- were that man not Stephen. He'd come up alert at the noise, and though stooped of necessity he retained his balance with barely a stumble.

Rhodes eyed him enviously.

"Don't fret. If you sent him aloft he'd likely tangle himself in the lines. And I bet he's fearful of heights."

"This is no time to make light."

"It is the precise time to make light," Anthony said.

"Will Stane be aboard, you think?"

"I've never known him to do himself what he can accomplish by sending one of his dogs. And I want to find what his message is before I choose my own response," he said to Stephen in particular. "No one is to act unless by my signal."

Stephen bowed his head, all obedience, yet his hands stayed clenched. "The order is clear, Lord Stark."

"Good. Now I'll determine the temperament of Stane's drudge by the length I'm made to wait."

The summons was prompt, to Anthony's relief; delay would have marked a patient or petty foe. The grating was unlocked and thrown back, the hatchway encircled by bristling weapons. Their captors took no chance.

" _Milord_ comes with me. Any other that moves will be shot."

Stephen scorned the threat aimed at his breast. That he remained stationary was the effect of Anthony's will, no more.

Anthony's ascent was hindered by his odd manacles, but he requested no aid and would have taken none. He was marched at once to a gangplank and sent across at sword's point.

"Take care, m'lord," jeered one of his guards. Anthony recognized the man who'd hauled him over the rail and pinned his arm cruelly. "Fall and you'll be crushed atwixt the hulls."

"Aye, that's a bad end," said another. "They linger awhile. Worst are the ones that keep their ribcage, and can still draw breath to scream."

Anthony would not be daunted, for a welcome sight was had upon the opposite deck: Rhodes' crew standing chained and likewise guarded. Some displayed rough treatment, but when he took a head count he found none missing. "What designs have you for my men?"

"As if you gave a damn," said the first.

"Alive, they'll fetch ransom, same as me."

The brute laughed. "No, they'll fetch far less."

Anthony glanced behind to see his men start across the gangplank. Then they were bound for the hold, safe for the time. _Good._

There was much else to absorb along the brief march. Anthony knew enough of ships to call this one a brigantine. She flew no colors, and he expected her escutcheon was masked, but nothing could disguise her fine condition. She was too lightly gunned for an aggressor.

Stane owned a dozen merchants like her.

The game grew more intriguing when he was led inside the great cabin. The man seated within at the table could not be the captain, for Anthony blurted, "I know you."

"And I you, Lord Stark. Please, join me." At a flick of his hand, the guards took Anthony's manacles and retreated out the door, drawing it shut behind them.

Anthony sat. There were refreshments laid out, and... was that aroma coffee? He reached for the cup without invitation. "I would say you do know me were this drink not straight from my own stores."

"I hope it's brewed correct."

Anthony sampled a few drops on his tongue. He detected no additives; but having dosed himself with countless infusions after the remedy to his condition, he knew too well that a foul result need not possess a foul flavor. "It's weak," he said, returning the cup.

The man's appearance was uniform staid, from his lead-colored hair to his charcoal doublet, which slashes of cream silk failed to enliven. But it seemed an affectation, a ruse to slip the eye's notice. His slim hands, unadorned, were those of an aesthete. "Perhaps some wine, then."

"I did not hear your name."

"I did not give it."

"When I sit at a man's table, I prefer to be on equal terms with him. Shall I call you Bishop as your master Stane does?" 

The faint gleam of interest in the man's eyes was far less a reaction than Anthony had hoped to provoke. "He's correct; you have a fatal lack of subtlety."

"This concerns the armor he commissioned, doesn't it? I _told_ him, its mystic properties will manifest only to a worthy individual. The unfit who look upon it will perforce believe it's forged of tin.

"No? If he wanted my life, I'd already be consigned to the depths. It's ransom then, another attempt to ruin me in which he's made himself sure to be implicated. He's lost his wits."

The Bishop's eyes glittered now. "You drove him to it."

" _How?_ By refusing to let my foundries supply his war commerce?" Stane himself had no use for weapons except as a commodity he could sell to the fattest purse \-- no matter what tyrant held the purse strings. "I refuse to supply his enemies, too; the arrangement could not be more equitable."

"You would not be bought or bankrupted or coerced. He's exhausted all his strengths on you, while you sit in your fortress city -- an ulcer in the heart of his dominion -- and deride him to all who will listen."

"Next you'll claim amazement that I have a willing audience in the exiles and dissenters who took refuge at my gates!" Whether by treaty or extortion or leverage of finance, Mainhett's neighbor cities were Stane's in all but name. Woe betide anyone lured or compelled to be his partisan.

Anthony's father had unknowingly given that precedent, and paid for it ever after. But Anthony had made his own recourse.

"Enough. I am Lord Stane's ultimatum. Swear to him and you may yet escape calamity."

"That's rich. He'd rather me subjugated than destroyed. And if he fails an open attack... well. Even tame lordlings are ambitious. His pack will turn on him at the first scent of weakness."

"The attack _has_ succeeded. You see, the only hostage in play is your cherished steward Virginia. She is in Lord Stane's clutches now-" 

Anthony rose viciously from his chair. "Villain! What proof have you?"

"-and you're to pay the ransom for her life. Guards!"

Anthony found himself restrained before he could grab some makeshift weapon.

Reaching in his sleeve, the Bishop withdrew a cut-crystal vial and held it for Anthony to inspect. It was of course familiar, as it had been stolen from Anthony's possessions. "Do you know how I got my name?"

"No," Anthony growled, "and I'm not curious."

"It's because I excel at hearing confessions." He told the guards, "Take him."

  
~~~~~  
  


"Stephen!" Anthony cried. "Rhodes! Now is the time!"

His captors laughed, and one struck Anthony in the mouth hard enough that he would have fallen without their rude support.

"Should we gag him?"

"Idiot." The Bishop swept past them toward the bow. "The entire point's to make him talk."

Anthony was disinclined to struggle, as it only resulted in pain. But he fought with frenzy when he saw what awaited at their destination, until his breaths came sharp.

It was no use. He was bared to the waist and bound again, this time in manacles that were made of two hinged halves. Locked, they kept his wrists spread just far enough that his thumbs could not touch. The device was then bolted to a type of miniature butcher's table.

Anthony could not stand full upright. He kicked at his captors and threw his weight at the table, which was sturdy and well secured to the deck. His fingers scrabbled at its scarred surface. "Oh, _gods._ My friends, I need you now!"

The Bishop went around the table to his tool kit. There waited a long iron rod in a hotly burning brazier; the rod's tip never left the coals as he stirred them. "My portable apparatus is regrettably crude, but I assure you it can inflict enough damage that you'll never again wield any implement of your craft."

"I'll talk!"

"That was never in doubt." The Bishop brandished his poker, and Anthony could see now that its glowing orange end was a stamp the width of a palm. Its shape was a perfect-sided triangle: the alchemic symbol for elemental fire.

Anthony choked down a sound that was part laughter, part moan. "What should I say? Or should I list my crimes in order?"

"The secret creation of your red damask steel."

Now Anthony did laugh, helpless in disbelief. "The process is so complex, so exacting that no one but myself could duplicate it. I could give an entire treatise... the knowledge alone is worthless if you _ruin my hands_."

"Hold him," the Bishop said.

Anthony was gripped tight. When he tried to bite the guards, one of them got his hair and wrenched his head back.

"The chief hazard of conceit is that it can lead one to believe that one is indispensable." 

_It's worse than ruin,_ Anthony thought. _I'm not meant to leave his custody alive._ The brand waved so near that he could feel its radiant malevolence. He was down to clutching at straws. "How- I'll sabotage the instructions! The secret will become extinct with me."

"Virginia is forfeit should your instructions fail. However, in the case she's worth less to you than my Lord Stane thinks, you'll repeat yourself until the versions are identical. And by the end, you _will_ become so delirious that you lose the capacity to lie. So, let's hear the first."

Anthony clenched his jaw.

"Perhaps the celebrated skeptic requires a taste of what's to come."

The brand touched Anthony, but not upon the hand. It seared into the center of his breast, sizzle and acrid odor on the crest of the pain.

Despite his self-vow not to, he screamed.

The Bishop held the press what seemed an eternity, and Anthony dimly perceived that he spoke. "This test serves another purpose. See how he gasps and takes a pallor. The rumors of a feeble heart are true."

The brand drew away yet felt as if it remained embedded in his flesh. Anthony was aware of his heartbeat battering in his chest; the two agonies conflated as the first wave of dizziness dragged at him. He collapsed in the guards' grip.

His jaw was prised open and something was forced between his teeth: his vial of tincture.

"Give him sufficient dose to assure he won't escape into oblivion."

Anthony choked as the liquid poured down his throat. There was just enough sense remaining to him to be grateful that his end would be sure and quick.

"The secret," the Bishop said. "You can give it now, or you can wait until I've begun work on your hands."

A noise swam to Anthony as if from a great distance, though it was shocking loud. It seemed he should recognize it. "Wretch," he cursed, or meant to. Nothing came of it, if he was able to move his lips at all. _Scourge, assassin... you've destroyed your own satisfaction!_

_Ah, my friends, forgive me!_

Blackness took him.

  
~~~~~  
  


Rhodes followed in the wake of the paladin's rampage, appalled by the extent of it. The hatch grating had been shattered by the same strength that had snapped manacle chains like rotted twigs. Not a raider remained standing on the caravel's deck; indeed, from the sound of their shouts, many had been sent overboard.

He rallied his crew, "Take arms, finish off those brutes and get across!"

Stephen was located upon the aftcastle. He'd recovered his shield, and even as Rhodes watched he aimed it sideway and _hurled_ it from his hand. It flew to the opposite ship, striking his target enemy with enough force to rebound; then he made the leap himself, an impossible distance, and somehow plucked the thing back out of the air in time to deflect a pistolet shot.

The sight left Rhodes awestruck.

Joyeux, who'd missed the feat, shoved a sword into his wooden grip. "We must reach milord."

Rhodes made himself say, "Anthony's the least of our worries. We'll drift if the grapple lines are cut, and we're sunk if she rakes us with her guns at this range. Board her, go!"

They met no resistance, for Stephen had left none able. He was the first to Anthony's side, dispatching the two guards over the rail with a single sweep of his shield. The man in gray struck with his poker; Stephen closed, catching it half up its length, and threw that foe over too.

It was finished brutal quick, the only sounds left the groans of the wounded and dying.

Stephen drove his shield's rim into the lock securing Anthony. It sheared clean off amid sparks, and Anthony slumped lifeless for the deck, his head protected from hitting at the last by Stephen's hands.

The paladin knelt. "What's been done to him? Mother, am I too late?"

Rhodes' stomach turned at the ugly, weeping wound in Anthony's chest -- a chest which was uncommon still. Beneath grime and beard, his face was ashen. "Does he breathe?"

Stephen bent, his inspection tender. "Yes, faintly. I can find no other injury on him."

"It may be in him, not on. His heart-" It was then Rhodes spied the vial, caught in a caulk seam. He retrieved it with trepidation and tipped it upside down. "Oh gods, empty. The dose is three drops at most, even for his worst spells. He's poisoned if he took it all."

Joyeux, crying his distress, came to hover by his lord. "What can be done here?"

"He's dying from the remedy?" Stephen asked.

"It's terrible potent. Joyeux, fetch the ship's cook -- I pray he's not among the fallen. He also serves as leech. If any knows what to do-"

"No," Stephen said. "There are simple wounded for him to physic."

Joyeux wavered, torn.

"The rest will keep, and Anthony's short time," Rhodes said. "Go!"

"Hold, Joyeux." Stephen laid his hand upon Anthony's breast, just beside the burn. He frowned with concentration. "I... know something of the healing arts. Lord Stark's best hope is in me."

"Be that your opinion on the matter, I'd like another," Rhodes snapped.

"What ingredients went in that vial?"

"He'd never say."

Stephen closed his eyes, as if sight was a distraction and he'd learn what was necessary through other means. "His essence fades."

> _"Mother, is this the purpose I'm meant for?"_
> 
> _"You know it is, and I'll caution you it's but the start..."_

Stephen rose, lifting Anthony as if he weighed no more than a babe. "Touch us not," he warned when Joyeux drew near. "I'm all that's keeping him tethered to this mortal realm."

Rhodes shook his head, refusing that explanation. But Anthony's wan, quiescent form seemed too like a husk already; it moved him first to fright, and then to anger at his own impotence.

"See to your men and your ship," Stephen said, his understanding too good. He bore Anthony back across to the caravel.

Joyeux looked down to the shield, forgotten upon the deck. "I'll keep it for him," he said, as if desiring Rhodes' permit.

"Do that."

  
~~~~~  
  


Rhodes' cabin was closest to hand. A mighty kick took the door off its hinges, and Stephen bent inside to lay Anthony on the bunk. He knelt bedside, maintaining the whole time his binding touch upon chilled skin.

The air about him grew wondrous fresh and sweet. He'd expected it, and scarcely noticed.

With both his hands moved to Anthony's breast, he could feel the man's spark, struggling in confusion and pain against its fleshly imprisonment.

He began to pray.

> _"Oh Stephen, in this task what need have I for proof of your devotion?"_
> 
> _"It is meet, and I... wish to give it."_
> 
> _She alighted beside Anthony upon the bed, near enough to reach and tip up Stephen's chin. "See me, dearest."_
> 
> _Stephen raised his eyes. As always, the vision of Her flawless radiance -- the caress of Her grace -- stirred his soul to near unbearable joy._
> 
> _"Are you prepared to be my instrument and the vessel of my will?"_
> 
> _His throat thick, he could only nod._
> 
> _"Then I lend you my mastery of the quintessence." She placed a kiss upon his brow, whispering, "Use it well."_

Stephen knew not how long he labored, stamping out the poison and mending the terrible damage it had wrought. All the while, he contained Anthony's fluttering spark in the cup of his hands.

The man's body thrashed in delirium, then fell restless with burning fever. Finally it grew still, exhausted. Stephen's strength was likewise sapped, but there was one last measure to perform. He soothed that fragile thing he held, crooned to it until its panic subsided and he could release it gently back to its place.

There came a shout from behind, and Stephen realized he'd meanwhile gained an audience. He turned his attention back to find Anthony propped up and staring at him across an intimate distance, wholly bewildered to be alive.

  
~~~~~  
  


Anthony winced as the needle pricked him. "Tell me again what happened."

" 'Twas a mira-"

He pointed at Joyeux. "I've already said, I won't have that word within my hearing."

Rhodes wiped at a risen drop of blood, dipped his needle, and bent back to his work. "Hold still unless you wish it crooked."

"Are you- Ow! -making it like I showed you? The diagram needs be exact. That fiendish whoreson inquisitor-"

"Turned his brand to vex you, I know."

"It was for his own amusement!" The sigil for fire inverted made water, a contravening element for a metal-worker to bear. But Anthony would not be discouraged. He'd grasped the solution at once, the addition of a crossbar that would render water to good, balanced earth; and Rhodes was made to indelibly ink the fix on him without delay.

"Patience. I'll soon have the trouble put to rest."

Anthony chewed on his lip. The mark did trouble him, but the frequency with which it came to mind could not be attributed to ache or soreness. If only! No, whatever had occurred -- _whatever had been done to him_ \-- had progressed the wound to a fine, pale scar.

In all his travels and studies, he'd encountered proof of nothing that could achieve months of healing within a matter of hours. For by all other appearances, that was what had elapsed between his falling into certain death and waking alive and new beneath Stephen's hands.

"There must be a greater explanation."

"He prayed," Joyeux said. "That seemed all."

Prayer alone couldn't tire that man's legs out from under him. Stephen had needed assistance to tumble in a hammock, and nearly a full cycle later had yet to reappear. "Was it some incantation?"

Rhodes studied his progress. "I wouldn't recognize one if I saw it. Though at times he almost hummed, or sang."

"An elixir maybe, or a salve? Did he have his shield with him?"

The needle bit again. "No, and none that I saw."

"The secret of such a panacea would be jealously guarded." But not impossible to find, as Anthony knew well. Indeed, the creation of steel such as his had been hoarded to extinction; he'd recovered the process in scraps and fragments, painstakingly assembled. Then, against all rights, improved. "And the knight was himself preserved -- we both witnessed it. Perhaps he-"

"Anthony. Has it occurred to you he might tell you if you _asked_ him?"

"I couldn't," Anthony mumbled.

"You won't."

"There's no use in it! What's a secret if he gives it up to anyone who inquires? If he's been set as protector over the-" He couldn't say _arcanum_ , having doubted it attainable. "-over some forgotten power, then he's prepared to defend it unto death, and possibly beyond." No, the mystery would be unraveled by Anthony proceeding as he'd always done: study, test, observe, adjust, and repeat until he gained satisfaction.

Rhodes hesitated. "I still haven't heard your full account. What do you-"

Swatting the needle away, Anthony inspected the newest mark upon his breast. "It looks finished."

"Fine, have you at least decided the brigantine's fate? We make no headway sitting lashed to her."

"And here I'd thought our lack of progress was more to do with set anchors and furled canvas." He frowned. "Perhaps I should have you ink over the scar for a more uniform appearance."

"Anthony. I'll see done whatever needs happen, but you must tell me what that is. I cannot begin to guess your mind."

There was a blessing. Rhodes was sure to mistrust the plan. Better it was fully formed before he learned his part in it. "You'll have my word by sunset," Anthony promised, and rose to prepare.

  
~~~~~  
  


He made for his cabin, pulling his shirt on along the way. The stretch of fresh-worked skin hampered him, but he was glad for the normalcy of the ache. When his head reappeared from the twisted cloth, he spied Stephen skulking for the opposite rail and cut to intercept. "Ah, just the man I meant to find."

Stephen started, groping for the shield that wasn't there as any other would reach for their hilt. He turned the motion to a drag across his red-rimmed eyes. "How long did I sleep?"

"Not as long as that first nap I woke you from." Anthony knew he'd spoken amiss when a shadow crossed Stephen's face, making his stubbled cheeks seem gaunt. "Ah, about three-quarters cycle."

Stephen's arm dropped and he stood in place, lax-limbed yet somehow wary at once.

"Are you-"

"Lord Stark-"

The earlier spread of Stephen's hands upon him rose unaccountably from his memory. There'd been no delight in it, but a strange solace that had been, if anything, more affecting. "I think we're well beyond that lord nonsense," he said slowly. "Go, meet nature's demands, and I'll see you in my cabin after."

Stephen murmured some agreement and escaped.

"This could be troublesome," Anthony said to himself. Much as he'd taken for granted his stalemate with Stane, he realized that he had, in reassessing his position, counted Stephen among his resources without knowing the knight's mind.

Very well, he would learn it -- and if necessary appeal to it by the varied means at his disposal.

Despite being owner of the caravel, Anthony would not have displaced Rhodes from the captain's great cabin. Instead he'd taken lesser quarters, what would have been a luxury of space in a tightly packed merchant ship -- but to him they were still too cramped.

They became more so when Stephen knocked and was granted entry, his shoulders angled to fit through the door.

"Sit wherever you can make room." Anthony had left out his mortar and pestle with the ingredients he'd used to concoct Rhodes' ink. He spun around, seeking a place to stash them. "Are you hungry? I'll send for food."

"There's no need. Some was left for me, I think by Joyeux."

"Yes, he would do that."

All of their possessions had been recovered from the brigantine, but Anthony's armor had not returned to the hold. It stood vigilant on its stand, an obstacle for Stephen to avoid on his path to the bunk. "The plate is your work?"

"It is."

"I've never seen its like."

"Nor will you anywhere." Its ruddy color was not decoration, but a result of the elements and process that gave his steel its uncanny strength. It remained impenetrable at a thinness where common steel failed, permitting Anthony's armor to be so light and fine that he could bear it long past where a heavier load might have taxed his... infirmity.

His _heart,_ that ever since the poison had felt somehow changed within him.

"Its artistry transcends its purpose." From anyone else it would have been glib flattery, but Stephen was sincere.

"Thank you. And you have my tardy thanks for-" Anthony cleared his throat. "I was sure I'd drawn my last breath."

A line knit between Stephen's brow, and Anthony could read there an echo of concern. "You seemed lifeless when I reached you. I thought-" His eyes dropped.

Anthony put his suspicion to test. "The amount of foxglove distilled in that tincture should have ended me ten times over."

"Foxglove! And you'd take that intentionally?"

So, Stephen hadn't known the poison's agent. His antidote could not have been specific, not that one existed in Anthony's knowledge. "I can sweep my hand through a candle's flame and take no harm," he reasoned, "but if I hold it there I'll still be burned."

"A sensible man would refrain altogether from touching fire."

Anthony laughed, "Oh, how little you know me." His mirth died when Stephen's gaze met with his, its hesitance akin to guilt. "Not that you should. Our acquaintance has been brief, and I know you no better." The thought came that he would like to: that was new.

> _"I wonder what he'd say if you told him."_
> 
> _Her attention was not given solely in time of need. Stephen, whose childhood had been spent under his parents' stern and aloof god, had learned that and more of Her nature -- often to his great consternation. "Tell him what?"_
> 
> _Although She studied Anthony close, he saw Her not. "That you've held his life's spark."_

"Tell whom, me? What?" To Anthony, it seemed Stephen's focus was lost on nothing.

"Ah..." Stephen's hands gripped each other in his lap. "I must in honesty confess that you weren't cured by my will."

Anthony's chagrin was explicable, but its strength wasn't. He frowned. "Then why-"

"Oh no, it wasn't against my will either!" Stephen's expression fell abashed. "At that time, I wanted nothing more."

"But your mind is different now? You've developed regret? I'm no stranger to insult, but make it plain. I like insinuation less."

"Mother, where's my faculty for words gone?" Stephen groaned into his hands. 

> _"I'd say it's fled before a handsome, haughty face."_

"I'm not moved by- That is... my patron Mother's will was the one accomplished your recovery. She's due your thanks, not I."

At least he hadn't named it a miracle. "Splendid," Anthony said. "I'll light her some incense the next time I accidentally find myself in a church."

Stephen kept his gaze firmly downcast, as if he dared not rest it elsewhere. "That's not the sort of gesture would please Her."

"A sacrifice, then? Would she rather blood be spilled in her name?" Even as he said it, Anthony saw the possibility unfold. What if "mother" was how Stephen called the secret in his care? It was often said that great power was given only through exchange -- and what better offering than the heart's blood of the raiders slain that day?

"That would be worse still. The suffering of innocents is abhorrent to Her."

"But not the wicked?"

"I begin to think you mistake me apurpose." Stephen rose as if to leave.

There was no room to move and block his path. Instead, Anthony reached to stay him. "Wait." Then his thoughts scattered -- all save the distant impression that the arm he clutched could dislodge him as easily as Anthony might shake off a leaf.

Stephen stared unhappily back at him.

"My apologies. I've allowed the... discussion to stray far from my intent. Remain and hear what I have to say. Please."

"Might I have my arm returned first?"

"Ah, yes." Anthony retreated as deep into the cabin as he could, while Stephen kept his new place by the door. "As I'd surmised, the trap we fell into was the work of my determined enemy. But there's more I've learned since I was taken from the hold in chains." He recounted the Bishop's threat for Virginia; and found himself reaching further back to explain Stane's thwarted desire for Mainhett, and even a little of the ignoble means by which Anthony's father had preserved the city while he lived.

Most of all, Anthony took pains not to cover his own errors, for he had no one to blame but himself that he'd been taken unprepared. Thus he made his entreaty: "I could use you at my back. Will you follow me beyond the shore and into that strife? You'll have the reward of your choosing at the end, if I'm alive and able to give it."

Stephen had remained inscrutable through it all, and the speed with which he cast his decision only fostered greater apprehension. He said, "By your admission, you don't know me. So learn now that I won't be swayed by rewards or daunted by hardship. It is enough that I do good for those deserving."

"Then I am beneath your cause," Anthony said. "I only deserve to repair what my shortsightedness has rendered."

Despite his outward youth, the full brunt of Stephen's years came to bear upon his face. "You're wrong. That is the precise reason I'll pledge to you, until your goal is finished or I am. But I won't stay at your back. You'll stay at mine."

  
~~~~~  
  


That evening, Anthony took his supper in Rhodes' cabin, which was itself an unremarkable arrangement. He waited for the meal to settle and the sherry to come out before slipping off his signet ring. It wobbled when it was dropped on the table, and he gave a tap to watch it rock again.

"That bad, is it?" Rhodes said with a belch, for the food had been special requested and excellent. "I feel softened up for some purpose." His eyes narrowed. "I know you're unaccustomed to the privations of shipboard living, but you're not so bad off to try and bed me... are you?"

"I've been down that path," Anthony mumbled. "It ends at a cliff face."

"Then spit it out. Don't add to my assured displeasure by keeping me wait."

"Can you crew both ships?"

Rhodes considered. "I'd trust my first mate with a captaincy of his own. Indeed, he's due one soon. The trouble will be in numbers."

"Be sure to count myself and Joyeux and Stephen in your tally."

Rhodes' grin was faint. "You three together might make one able body." 

"And there's the raiders we took alive." He'd heard how Stephen's expedience had put many in the sea to be plucked out after; and not all those felled on deck had suffered fatal blows.

"We're few enough ourselves to keep them behaved. Better they stay chained away as we were."

"Oh, I think the intimidation of one Sir Nightmare would suffice." Anthony almost laughed to picture Stephen howling and biting his shield as the ancient berserkers were said to have done.

Rhodes said, "If you mean to keep the brigantine, we could beach her and hope she remains until we could return."

"I mean to sail her home." Anthony removed his pearl eardrop, and slid it with his ring to Rhodes. "You'll need those for your own course."

"Anthony, no."

"You're not even formally named my admiral and your first act is mutiny. There's gratitude."

Rhodes refused to take the jewels. "I'm with you. Whatever your task, send your newest captain. He'll see it through."

A scroll was slid over next. It had been painstakingly written and sealed with all the pomp Anthony could produce out of his limited materials. The handmade commissions he kept for the moment. "I _must_ send the best I have, and I know you won't be awed or cowed by the personage you're to approach on my behalf."

Rhodes glared, but by his silence he knew the assessment was true. Further, there was no one but himself he'd rather have protecting Anthony's interests.

"The pearl will keep you in supplies. My seal will grant you audience."

"With whom?" Rhodes found a new argument. "We'll make for port together. It's only a week. Once I've seen you landed safe, I'll bolster my crew and set straight out again."

Anthony shook his head. "It'd mean at least a fortnight's delay. Where we sit now is more than halfway to your destination. Do you recall that eastern prince whose hospitality I enjoyed while I studied the history of his city's metal-working?"

"Furiast? The one with the-" Rhodes squinted one eye.

"None other." He'd shown interest in Anthony's labors, for it was said that his realm's own crafters had been the first to hold and the last to lose the damask technique.

"I thought you called him a pit viper."

"Oh, he is one," Anthony assured. "But he has no use for either my city or my life. And recall that Stane's notoriety follows everywhere he plies his trade. He'd not cross a prince direct, but if he's made himself a vexatious fly, for that reason alone Furiast might lend me a swatter."

"I'll request exactly that on bended knee, shall I?" In one gulp, Rhodes drained what was left in his cup.

"He'll want to stop with an offer of sanctuary in his lands. Press him hard for more -- I'll need numbers even to reach Mainhett if she is beleaguered. And wait until he's dismissed you and promised to consider the matter to give him this." Last, Anthony gave Rhodes his own fine knife. Let Furiast look upon the blade and see the worth of having its maker in his debt.

"What should I vouch in return?"

Anthony met his gaze gravely, so there could be no question. "Whatever you know I can afford to give. Do this for me, James. It's the most I ever hope to ask of you."

Rhodes took the knife, and finally the rest as well. He studied the ruby signet long moments before sliding it on his own hand. "Go, let me prepare. If I burn the candles long, I might have us ready to sail by first light."

  
~~~~~  
  


Stephen stood at the rail, witnessing along with the now-divided crew the ceremony that concluded on the opposite deck.

His commission official, the new captain made his way across to the brigantine, leaving Anthony the only one still on the wrong ship. Stephen watched him amuse himself with some remark, which only won a slight frown from Rhodes. Then, as he made to go, impulse turned him back to surprise his friend with a quick, fierce embrace.

Joyeux met Anthony stepping off the gangplank, and sailors hurried down the rail, hacking at the suture lines binding the two ships. They tore apart with a groan, as if stretching wooden muscles stiff from long confinement, and the gap between them widened until not even Stephen could have leaped across it.

The ship came alive with bustle. He knew well enough to go hide out of the way.

Despite the urgency of their voyage, the days that followed were some of the happiest in Stephen's recent memory. Before he'd... slept, he'd spent months pressed before an unrelenting foe. Each new night that didn't see him digging graves and mourning the fallen was a mercy; and there was an almost shameful pleasure in being rested and regular fed.

Likewise, he was grateful to bend his back in labor that didn't leave him caked in dirt and gore. At first, the tasks allowed him were drudging, but he sat with Joyeux -- and sometimes Anthony -- after supper, learning knot-work and the basic running of the ship. Nothing had to be explained to him but once, and his strength and steady hands soon found increased demand.

He made his first trip aloft at the mate's indulgence and through a lack of other volunteers. It was only a snagged line, easily remedied. Surely not warranting the odd stares that met him once he'd clambered back down.

Even Anthony was there, drawn from his own business as if to a spectacle. He took Stephen around the shoulders and drew him aside, his expression more pensive than the rest. "Don't mind the crew. They expected to be scraping your carcass off the deck, and now they can't decide whether to be disappointed or glad they're not."

"I had my balance," Stephen said. "But why should they be glad if I'd fallen?"

"Haven't you ever felt a sliver of satisfaction at watching someone drop a foolishly precarious load?"

"If I saw someone struggling, I would help them."

"Of course you would," Anthony sighed. He swung around to face Stephen, squaring them up at arm's length. "Just- The footropes are there so that you don't have to walk upon the yard unsupported."

"I know their purpose." How could he not, having observed the sailors' work as closely as he did? "I'd have made their use if I'd needed them."

Anthony's brewing scowl could be contained no longer. "Then I beg pardon for my unwelcome concern. I forgot that even the wind and the pitch of the waves wouldn't dare try to knock you down."

"I wouldn't chance walking the whole yard -- I don't believe myself untouchable," Stephen said slowly, persisting in his own defense even as he avoided to understand his reasons. "It was only a few steps. Besides, the sea is-"

> _"Stephen, be patient with him. He's not accustomed to fearing for his companions."_
> 
> _"No, he'd rather risk himself and leave them to worry. Or better, let them see no cause for worry at all."_

When Stephen had been cornered for a stern parting lecture, Rhodes had warned on that point, and many others: Anthony could be headstrong and capricious and self-centered; he liked to hold secrets; he would push himself with abandon, and Stephen must be the one to rein him in as Joyeux was unable. It had made Stephen almost angry to have Anthony's faults paraded before him, as in the manner of a merchant disparaging the goods they want for a cheaper price. He'd wanted to tell Rhodes, _I've reached into his core. I think I know better than you what lurks there._

But that wasn't true. Rhodes was a good man, and Anthony had his friendship for a reason.

"The sea is... what?" Anthony nudged him. "And the rest?"

"Hmm?"

"You said: He'd rather risk himself than leave them-"

Stephen retreated a step, only to find that he'd backed into the shrouds. Not for the first time, they reminded him of a monstrous spider's web. "Nothing. Whatever you think I said, it was nothing."

"Are you sun-touched? Is that the matter?"

"If the wind and the sea's motion won't influence me, why should the sun?"

"Acclimation," Anthony decided too readily. Curse his nimble mind. "Eyes that are adjusted to the dark are shocked by bright light. You were hid too long in the earth, and as a result-"

"Please don't speak of that," Stephen said. "And I'm not sun-touched. I'm not even burned."

Anthony blinked, his attention leaping from the puzzle surrounding Stephen to Stephen himself. "You aren't. As fair as you are, you should be." He closed the space between them again to pluck at Stephen's vest -- or rather, at the laces that strained to hold it around his chest. "This gives as little protection as it does modesty. Where did you get it?"

"Joyeux found it for me." And the trousers too, which were tight in the thigh despite their loose style. It wouldn't occur to him to complain; spare clothes were a rarity on a ship. "I appreciate his thoughtfulness. I'd have sweltered in my arming suit."

Anthony's expression turned hazy as he wet his lips. "Joyeux, yes. He's good to me. Er, I'm glad he's taken you in his charge."

"As am I," Stephen said inanely. Too late he sought to extricate himself, and was distracted by the indulgent smile She fixed on him. He tried not to return Her look but was affected all the same; his face heated.

"Are you sure you're not sun-touched?" Anthony's eyes went where Stephen's refused, but She stayed hid from his sight.

Stephen clutched that chance. "Perhaps I should spend a turn below." He skirted around Anthony to retrieve his shield, which he'd made habit of affixing by the aftcastle ladder, so that it might always be safe and near to hand. More than once, he'd been teased that it should be the ship's new escutcheon.

Anthony called after him, "You could leave that in your bunk. It wouldn't come to harm."

"And how often do you slink to my bunk to check it isn't there?"

"If I had your permission to examine it I wouldn't need to slink!"

Stephen dropped down the ladderwell without the use of stair.

> _"Your shield isn't all he'd like to examine."_
> 
> _"Mother, please..."_
> 
> _Her laughter was a cool balm against his neck, and She whispered, "My favorite, the only sins I recognize are those that inflict suffering, or aid others that do. You wouldn't suffer these tedious inhibitions if you'd been mine from the start."_

  
~~~~~  
  


Aside from his armor, Stephen had nothing of his own, not even the borrowed clothes on his back. But he and Joyeux had been instructed to take what was necessary from the ship's stores to see them several days' journey over land. If they were frugal, they could go twice that on what Joyeux had laid out; it seemed in Anthony's service it was better to prepare for the unexpected.

"He has a plan," Joyeux said, as if to assure himself. "Milord never wants for a plan."

"But how often does he follow a single one from start to end?"

The answer was a snort.

That made one of Rhodes' warnings confirmed. "I don't doubt he's seething with plans," Stephen said. "You can see it in his eyes. But I prefer to know at least my goal ere I set forth."

"You must have hated to come naked and bawling into this world without a purpose." Anthony lounged in the door as if he hadn't appeared there but a moment before. "If indeed that was your entrance. I could almost believe you sprang from an outcrop of marble fully-formed." He bit into the peach held, slurping at its juices.

Stephen was quick to look away, but the sound could not be escaped. "I was born the same as everyone, with a mam and a da..."

"Yes," Anthony agreed, when it became clear Stephen would say no more. "I understand that is the combination most like to... bear fruit." He bit his peach again.

"Ah, does milord desire his cabin returned?" Joyeux asked, for that was the space they'd been using to sort the supplies.

"No, but I am borrowing Sir Surefooted. Stephen?"

Stephen followed him, at the last deciding to catch up his shield.

Anthony nodded, "Good. We're near enough shore to put off the raiders. Your presence should discourage them from trouble -- but to be sure you might contort your face and bite at your shield."

"I-"

"Although I doubt you could be more terrifying than when you burst from that grave trailing flames. I almost wish I'd seen it from Joyeux's side."

Stephen halted, causing Anthony to continue a step without him.

"Aren't you coming? They're about to be taken from their manacles."

"But for that reason, I would turn back to help Joyeux." His disagreement was all for Anthony's manner.

Anthony shrugged, his teeth nipping golden flesh from the pit. "At least you dependably yield to sense."

Now Stephen moved past him, not caring that his shield jostled Anthony into the boards. 

The captives waited upon the deck in a line, guarded on each side by a quarter their number in crew. Anthony had gauged right the potential for trouble, and Stephen was glad to stand by as deterrence. But his annoyance was renewed at the appearance of a plank. He sidled to Anthony and hissed, "You can't put them overboard. What if not all can swim?"

"If they can't, they've no business making their life on a ship."

"The shore's a good half-league distant. Order the boat dropped; I'll row them myself if I must."

Anthony inspected the pit before flinging it over the side. "It would be several trips, and I won't waste the time. You should content yourself that I didn't allow Rhodes to maroon them on that barren isle of your acquaintance." He signaled the captain, and the first raider was prodded by drawn steel over the edge. The splash that followed was faint.

Another dropped, and another. Stephen watched their numbers dwindle until the threat of riot was nearly gone; he would stay no longer. But he was blocked when he made to leave.

Anthony's dark eyes simmered, stripped of all facetiousness; the transformation revealed his earlier guise for what it was. He said, low for their hearing only, "There may come a time when you'll need to trust my word on its strength alone, for we won't have the luxury of negotiation."

Stephen matched that look long moments. When at last he gave a nod, it was one of comprehension, not assent. "There may also come a time when you'll learn that my pledge does not convey my unthinking obedience."

"I never presumed to believe that it did," Anthony said, and let him go.

  
~~~~~  
  


Anthony's party made their own landfall the next morning -- ten days all told since setting sail, for the brigantine was not as quick as the caravel. Any way he looked at it that made too many; Stane would be expecting that same ship to dock soon, and every hour it failed to appear would point to something gone awry.

They were set down on an inhospitable jagged spit. Although Anthony knew this particular stretch of shore to be desolate, the brigantine stayed far enough away to frustrate identification should she be spotted. Her captain had orders to take her south again and wait on Rhodes, for the main port of Heppouge to the north was Stane's own seat. Anthony's ships, legally owned or otherwise, would not berth there again.

Heppouge was the very place he meant to infiltrate. Stane would keep Virginia nowhere else, and Anthony was not free to act while she was held as lever against him.

If the Bishop had not lied. If she-

He silenced that fear. Stane was far-thinking, not a man to dispose of any piece just because its present use was ended.

"No, not yet," he said when he saw Stephen start to unpack his armor. "We have that cliff to scramble up, and a ways to go after. Come Joyeux, don't look so miserable. The climb's shorter than the last, and there's a path. Rhodes told me how to find it."

Stephen began to dress anyway, getting Joyeux to help him with the buckles. "I'd rather be hampered on the ascent than meet trouble unprepared at the crest."

"Nothing waits at the crest. The ground is too rocky to till, the shore too steep to launch fishing boats. There's little reason anyone would venture here."

Stephen had one pauldron on, the other needing Joyeux's assistance. "Then why do you know this place at all?"

"It's the very desolation that makes it attractive for- Oh, look at you! We've no hope of going unnoticed with you shining like a great beacon."

"The answer's simple," Stephen said, placing on his helm. "If we meet company, then I am a roving foreign knight, and you two are my... loyal retainers."

Joyeux's lips twitched against a grin. "His appearance _is_ quite commanding. It could work."

"I don't recall seeking your opinion," Anthony said waspishly, for it was apparent that the word Stephen had tripped over and abandoned was 'humble'.

Stephen gripped his shield. "It's settled. Show us this path."

Anthony pretended to swipe off a fine hat, and made his most fastidious bow. "Aye, _milord._ "

Joyeux was the first of them to burst out laughing. No matter the sad excuse, it felt too good to do it.

The path was disused, but Stephen, in the lead, had no trouble picking it up again where it grew faint. When they neared the top, Anthony held back, then sprinted the remainder in a rush. It left him blowing as from honest exercise, the strong and steady thrum of his pulse unremarkable -- save that it was _his_ heart made it.

Stephen grew more easy when he saw that all was as Anthony had said, a wind-swept little peak, with a distant hut the only glimpse of human presence.

"Joyeux, I'll need flint and tinder." Anthony turned north and, from the distinct rock at the path's end, counted his paces as Rhodes had instructed. On the thirtieth exact he spied the prepared fire, its fagots old but well kept from the damp. It took beneath his first-struck sparks.

"It seems an odd place to lay a signal," Stephen said. He made a windbreak of his shield, that the curl of flame would not snuff out.

Anthony sat back on his heels. "That distant hut will answer if its owner is about and the vicinity is clear." He could not resist continuing the lecture, "There are too many ears on a ship, too many tongues that can be loosened by drink. I would not even say to the captain our destination ere the raiders were put off." To a familiar shore, where their story would doubtless reach Stane in time. "So you can stop feeling slighted. You now know the secret I protected by holding my plan to myself."

Stephen waved to encompass cliff, sea, and fire. "What, your scheme to avoid Stane's port taxes?"

" _And_ the safety of those who are part of it." He frowned. "If it was only exorbitant fees I would grind my teeth and pay them. But my shipments-"

"Your shipments?"

"Leave it. I can see that Sir Stubborn has made me for a smuggler, and I won't fight to change his mind."

Satisfied that the fire was done needing shelter, Stephen rose, all the while watching Anthony unhappily. "You can't fault me for making my mind on the little evidence I'm allowed."

Oh, but Anthony could and did, even as a voice sprang unbidden: _He barely knows you, but he tries to learn._ Well, how could he when he went unerringly for the least flattering conclusion?

_No, in fairness that isn't true..._

"Look, the hut answers," Joyeux pointed, for it had let up a thread of dark smoke.

"Stamp out the fire," Anthony said. "We're off."

  
~~~~~  
  


The hut's owner was stooped and grizzled, yet Stephen saw how his arms retained their strength. Like Anthony's they were flecked with the scars from forge-work, only to a much greater extent. His white beard was the most hair he had on his head.

He recognized Anthony on sight, though clearly his presence was unexpected. "Lord Stark!"

Anthony clasped his ropey forearm as if greeting an equal; he also, Stephen noticed, held the man up from bending his poor back in obeisance. "Carlo, isn't it?"

"Yes, m'lord."

"I'm afraid courtesies must wait. What's the news from Mainhett?"

"I have none recent."

"Heppouge?"

Carlo shook his head.

"Do you still keep pigeons?"

"Aye, not so many as before, but I've one or two that'll make the trip. Come, they roost in the barn."

Carlo studied Stephen -- or rather, his armor -- with no little curiosity while Anthony and Joyeux unpacked writing tools and made a note. Finally he said, "The reply will take at least a day. My house is mean, but its hearth is yours tonight."

"Nonsense. We'll stay in the barn." The structure was larger than the hut, too grand for the few fowl and goats it housed. Of course -- it must double as a temporary warehouse.

"Oh, I won't have it! The roof leaks like a sieve, and there's a storm on the horizon."

Stephen raised his eyes and could indeed see filtered sunlight in places. "That's easily fixed."

"Did you just volunteer us to mend thatch?" Anthony asked, approaching with an eager pigeon in his hands. He let it fly from the doorway.

"I volunteered myself."

"Do you even know how?"

"No... but Joyeux says you're a wondrous builder. Surely you can examine the old work and tell me how it was done."

Anthony's eyes clouded, and he said as if unwilling, "The great builder was my father. But I could show you how to topple the structure with two well-aimed blows."

"Oh." Stephen's fingers moved on the rim of his shield. "Then I'll do my best and hope it's enough."

"That is your singular approach to everything, isn't it? _Do your best,_ even when it means leaping in with no idea how to proceed."

"Is that so wrong?" Stephen wondered why the answer should matter to him.

"No," Anthony decided. "Some would call it commendable." He shook off his thoughts and became more animated. "But it happens I can help you after all. See those patterns on the ground? Rain leaks frequently there, and also upon that board where it's discolored."

"Then I may not know how to proceed, but you've shown me where to start." He added, strangely conscious, "Thank you."

  
~~~~~  
  


> _"What think you of his haughtiness now?"_

In the absence of a ladder, Anthony had demanded to be the one tossed up to the roof -- and then had sulked at how little effort Stephen had needed to do it. Bared to the waist, he perched there lashing in place a bundle of fresh-cut grass; loose chaff was stuck to him and caught in his hair.

Stephen was likewise decorated but more, for he'd done the scything. The itch of it was maddening.

> _She leaned over Stephen and twined Her pale arms about his neck. "Well?"_
> 
> _He shivered, hands stilling at the knot they tied. "It was you called him that, not I."_
> 
> _"Quibbling, my fairest?"_
> 
> _"I can't figure him," Stephen whispered, for Joyeux was near. "He's as changeable as the sea, and I can see no better beneath his surface."_
> 
> _"Oh, and now falsehood."_
> 
> _He felt his face heat to be caught. "Perhaps I... find it difficult to reconcile what I know and what I see -- what he permits me to see."_
> 
> _She tipped his chin toward the roof. "Is this also an act?"_
> 
> _"No." There was a strange melancholy to the thought. "In this moment he's forgotten all else, and is content to be wholly himself."_

The predicted rain came as they were finishing. Stephen stood in the downpour until he was soaked through but washed clean. They shared Carlo's supper, and Anthony let him ramble on the Mainhett he remembered fondly, for all that he'd been happy to retire to the open landscape of his youth.

The longer evening the crept, the more Anthony withdrew as he gathered his worries back to him. Their burden seemed increased by the forced wait, no matter how often Carlo assured that the pigeons flew but one direction and that a message would not arrive before morning.

Friendly roof or no, Stephen insisted a watch be set, for there was no guarantee their own message had not been intercepted by Anthony's foes. His shield across his lap, he took the first turn while Anthony and Joyeux bedded down. Just beyond his boots, the rain fell merciless, but the barn remained fragrant and dry.

When he heard a scuff sometime later, he didn't come alert, for he knew the foot that made it. "Checking that I've not fallen asleep?"

"You wouldn't." Anthony sat close beside him. "And I... can't."

The tension in Anthony felt the same as the eve before a battle, yet Stephen could hardly suggest his own remedy of prayer. Quiet companionship could also help, he knew, so he said nothing when he felt Anthony shift to press against his side.

They sat that way for a long while before Anthony shifted again. "Do you know," he said, "it was more legend than history concerning you I chased, in pursuit of this." His knee bumped the shield.

"There are legends about me? That is, I'd be embarrassed to hear them, and I doubt they hold much fact." He hadn't set out to martyr himself unto history; nor had he, to his mind, accomplished anything special to merit it. Indeed, he'd sacrificed less than many he'd stood with.

"Oh, they're all fierce battles and unbelievable feats -- embellished to be sure, but perhaps by less than I'd thought when you existed only as a tale yourself."

Should he apologize for turning real, then? He hadn't asked to wake so far from everything he'd known, with a repute that -- like him -- should not have survived the intervening years. "The truth is always... less."

Anthony said, "Tell me a story, a lesser one I don't know."

Stephen knew at once which one he had to say, and to that end he slid his shield into Anthony's astonished hands. While Stephen held it, he could imagine that it had always been a part of him. "Yes, I was born naked and bawling. I must have bawled often, I think, for I was a sickly child."

Anthony put the shield in his lap. His hands were unable to be still upon it, and he traced the star device at its heart the same way Stephen often did, with almost the same reverence. "You, sickly? I can't believe it."

"I was." Stephen smiled to himself as he caught Her scent upon the air.

> _"You were skin over bones, with great hollow eyes. But the moment I saw you, I knew you had burning within you the courage of ten grown men, and the compassion of more."_

Her presence made it easier to continue. "My parents were free but poor. I'm told it was my mam's own herb-craft that saw me alive through infancy. My da served a minor lord, and when that lord lost his holdings to foreign conquest, he chose exile over a diminished life in his homeland. His household followed."

"Where is your homeland?"

"Not mine. I was raised upon the endless road. The land my parents left lies far to the north and west. Their lord took up as a mercenary, for his household had been much like a raiding band already."

Stephen breathed deep before moving on in a rush. "My da fell on an early campaign -- I can't recall him much -- but my mam had earned her own place and stayed on. I think she spent as much time easing my coughs and fevers as she did on the rest of her patients combined. When she sickened herself, I took as much of her work as I could, but she-"

Anthony waited, gripped in a different sort of tension now.

> _His Mother brushed back a strand of hair from his forehead, achingly tender, and Stephen's eyes remained dry._

"She worsened and died. It was winter, the ground was froze solid. The band was harried and dared not halt to bury her proper, so I stayed behind to do it. Our kind cook left me some food. I made a sled of pine boughs and dragged her body off the trail." She'd been so light, a wasted husk. "It took me six days to gather rocks enough for a cairn. By then, I had no hope of re-catching the band." He hesitated. "I'm not sure I ever intended to."

"How old were you?" Anthony murmured.

"Not yet twelve." Stephen sat back a little, balanced on his hands, and Anthony's press stayed with him. "Here's the part you won't find in any history. I would have froze myself those nights if I hadn't taken shelter against a crumbled old shrine. When I'd discovered it, I'd thought to use its stones for my task, but I couldn't take even one. It seemed... disrespectful." He could explain no better the aura, awful and aware, that had hung over the glade.

"Stones don't care where they're placed."

"Those might have."

"I don't think I enjoy this story. And yet it must end well, for here you are."

"Here I am," Stephen agreed. "I'd run out of food. When I finished placing the headstone, I found that an offering had been left at the shrine while I'd worked. That, I took."

> _"How you quaked with temerity to steal what was meant for you!" Warmth and affection spilled from Her laughter. "Oh, and the next morning, what did you do?"_

Stephen knew he blushed to his ears, and was glad it was too dark for Anthony to see it. "The next day I tended the shrine, righting stones and pulling out dead vines. What? It was the best I could do in my gratitude."

"I did not comment," Anthony said. "Though I want to, badly. You have no idea the restraint I'm exerting."

"No, She- I'm laughed at already. You might as well add your piece."

"What?"

"My patron Mother. I think at times I amuse Her as much as I must confuse you." 

Anthony sat up, the shield sliding. "She's _here?_ "

"She's often with me," Stephen said. "I'm called Her favorite."

As if by instinct, Anthony kept the shield while he rose. He cast about in the dark warily. "Where? I see nothing."

"Nor will you." Stephen didn't say that She stood barely a pace away from Anthony's blind gaze. He was surprised to receive Her approval, and continued. "But if you could, you'd notice a lush and well-formed woman, both young and mature. Her hair is glossy umber, Her lips the exact shade of fresh-spilled blood. The same arms that nurture can turn savage in a heartbeat, for as a mother She is a fierce protector. I have... been driven by Her rages."

Felt the cold, vengeful satisfaction at striking down some abhorrence. It left him drained and fearful of his own strength -- and sated, always and ashamedly so.

Stephen rose to accept his shield back from Anthony, who did not seem anxious to have it out of his hands as most would have been. "You seem perplexed. Is She not as you imagined?"

"How can you know I-" Anthony groaned. " _Of course,_ your eyes are so much better made than mine that they see through this gloom."

"Some. I can make out the edge of the yard."

"Is there _any_ part of you that isn't superior?"

> _"He does not expect an answer, but the truth would delight him to no end."_

"Oh?" Stephen said. And again, " _Oh._ No, I- That is, I'm sure I am lacking somewhere."

Anthony's frown was faint and still puzzled, though it had acquired purpose. "Thank you for the story. It was illuminating."

Stephen shuffled in place. "You were welcome to it." The first person who had been in some time.

They stood there a while, until Anthony made a yawn that did not seem sincere. "I think I could sleep."

"Good night, then."

"Mmn."

It was somehow unsurprising when Joyeux appeared, rubbing his eyes, soon after Anthony had retired. He said to the direction where he thought Stephen might be, "M'lord says I'm to send you off to bed as well."

"My watch isn't done."

"It will be soon, and mine's next." Joyeux dropped his voice. "Please go. When he gets like this... well, I've seen him drag through days without rest. If slumber finds him at all tonight, it's best that he's disturbed as little as possible."

"Fair enough, but I'll take the third watch as well." He clasped Joyeux on the shoulder before creeping for the ladder. With luck, Anthony would already sleep; and Stephen had taken vigilant sentries unaware, he could move so lightly.

The loft was a narrow space, rough planked with hand-sized gaps between, but a blanket of grass -- Stephen had cut too much -- made it hospitable. Anthony was curled there in his cloak, alert and following Stephen's progress as he pulled himself up.

His shield placed at his head, Stephen stretched out beside him. "You're awake."

"It's my mind that resists. The rest of me is eager to succumb. Perhaps you could negotiate an accord between them?"

"I would if I knew how."

Anthony's touch fell to Stephen's arm, tentative as a question. "It occurs to me that you left your story unfinished."

"I did?" He squirmed to spread his shoulders more even across the gaps.

"You never did say how the sickly youth became... this." His fingers slid upward, pressing through Stephen's sleeve.

"Simple. I grew."

Anthony propped himself up further, and even the dark could not hide Stephen from him at this short distance. "You... grew." His mouth was a quirk between smile and frown.

"Under Her guardianship I grew and thrived as never before. She appeared to me at the shrine -- for years I recalled it as a dream -- and told me which direction I should travel to find a welcoming hearth. Ever since that's been my life: She aims me and I go."

"In our association," Anthony murmured, "I could almost fancy myself the one aimed. Or led." His touch reached Stephen's throat and held there as he leaned for some closer inspection, his features rapt.

> _"He means to kiss you."_

Stephen jerked upright with enough force to crack their heads together.

"Gods! Your skull is superior in that it must be _made of rock._ " Anthony clutched his own face. "Ow."

"My apologies!" Stephen felt about himself almost wildly and with no purpose, for his thoughts had fled.

"You didn't have to-"

"I didn't intend it -- I was startled. Besides, your own head is harder than you realize."

"A word would have sufficed." Anthony gave a soft hiss, but it was more annoyance than hurt now. "I may be handsome and clever... and wealthy, skilled with my hands..."

Stephen gaped at him.

"...but I do understand rejection."

He would be honest no matter the price. "Indeed, you are all those things... the issue lies elsewhere."

"Is it because Joyeux is near? I can be silent if you can."

"Mother," Stephen moaned, "how can I end this embarrassment?"

> _"There is a sure way, but you seem not to appreciate it."_

Anthony guessed, "Women, then? I enjoy them too, with their curves and their sweetness, but sometimes it's a man's hard embrace I want."

Stephen turned away to curl on his side, as near to the loft's edge as he could be. "Your understanding does not make you graceful in denial."

"I never claimed it did. And why should it?"

"Lord Stark, please... go to sleep."

"So you'll leave me unsatisfied even for the reason? Stephen?"

Apparently he must make it a command, and set the example himself. "Sleep."

  
~~~~~  
  


Stephen had slept close to his companions on many occasions; his body gave enough natural heat to make him a popular bedmate on cold nights. So it wasn't strange to wake premature with Anthony tucked full against his back, one arm about him and hand curled over Stephen's heart.

No, he came instantly alert at the sound of footsteps below. They were too light to be Joyeux's or Carlo's, and uncommon careful besides.

Joyeux! If there was trouble he should have cried an alarm. That he hadn't meant that he'd been somehow rendered unable.

The loft was cramped, presenting too much chance for Anthony to be injured in a scuffle. Stephen didn't wait for the footsteps to reach the ladder. He rolled out from Anthony and over the edge, catching his shield as he went. A singular burst of near-soundless motion, for which the intruder was clearly unprepared; he fell beneath Stephen's rush and was pinned, thrashing.

"Anthony! Joyeux! We're set upon!"

A normal man would cry out when taken by surprise. This one gave only harsh breaths as he struggled for the leverage to throw Stephen off. Strong but too slight, he wouldn't succeed -- he had to know it yet fought anyway. Add that tenacity to the speed with which he'd recovered his wits and it made a dangerous combination to encounter in a foe.

"What in the nine hells?" came Anthony's voice, just as white-hot light erupted near the attacker's scrabbling hand.

It was as though Stephen was caught staring into a miniature sun. The barn's interior was illuminated brighter than noonday, searing light and acrid smoke a barrage on his senses. He received two stunning blows in succession and toppled; when his vision began to clear he found himself on his back, the cold edge at his throat a red-bladed knife of Anthony's make.

"Stark, call off your watchdog."

The voice could not disguise what close-fitting and sodden riding leathers had. "A woman?" Even that slight movement had the knife bearing down until he thought he felt his skin part.

Anthony came down the ladder, his own sword in hand. "Stephen, stay yourself. I know her."

Stephen nodded and was released, the woman standing clear of him as if he troubled her no more now than a scrap of refuse in a ditch.

"That flare is an effective device."

"You're always quick to praise your own work."

"When it's deserving. Joyeux?"

"Watering the horses. Where's Rhodes, and how did you acquire the blond brute?"

"That is... an interesting tale, best held for later." Although his aid was unnecessary, Anthony bent to help Stephen up; but perhaps it was his excuse to make a quick inspection in the flare's guttering light. "You needn't have marked him."

"He shouldn't have flinched."

"Stephen, meet Natalya. She is Virginia's-" He turned to Natalya, "Will you finally admit to being her spymaster? I've known for some time."

She wiped her blade against her thigh and returned it to its clever-made sheath, where it was all but hidden from a casual glance. There was no telling how many other tricks and weapons were concealed about her person. "You _suspected,_ and were not sure until this moment."

"True... but I always said you were too sharp for a mere lady's maid."

"Ma'am," Stephen said. When he ran his thumb on his throat, it came away with a few flakes of dried blood, for the cut had been fine and he healed quick as ever. "I'll find us a light."

"Don't bother," Natalya said, and stamped out the dying flare herself. "I flew when I received Anthony's message, taking no pains to cover my trail. The rain will help obscure it; we should be away from here while it still falls."

Anthony's voice was a mix of hope and dread. "Whence did you come?"

"Heppouge, the vermin's den itself. I meant to keep you from Stane's custody if you reached port unaware of his treachery."

"Oh, he made certain I would not." Anthony's hand went as if by instinct to the mark on his breast. "And Virginia...?"

"She was never there."

"Thank the stars."

Natalya warned, "Don't count her safe. Stane claws at Mainhett's gates, which remain shut only because Virginia holds them in your stead."

  
~~~~~  
  


Carlo refused to leave his hut, scoffing at any danger but still refusing payment which might indicate Anthony had rested there. "When this is over, you can send me some token from Mainhett," he'd said, and disappeared to tidy the barn.

Stephen was given the roan meant for Rhodes. The horses were worn already from the pace Natalya had set, and the footing was poor, so they made but four leagues by Anthony's guess before stopping with the sunrise to rest.

While Joyeux and Stephen loosened girths and checked hooves, Anthony took Natalya aside. "There's something you should see." He unlaced his shirt and pulled it down to bare the scar.

"That is not related to your work." She made it near a question, for he was known to be reckless with himself in pursuit of his goals. Virginia in particular would berate him whenever he was caught with some self-inflicted injury, accidental or not.

"It was given me by Stane's inquisitor, the one he calls- called Bishop." Unlike the raiders, that man had not been plucked back from the sea after Stephen's rampage. Chances were he'd swum as well as a stone.

Natalya's interest flared, and she pulled off one glove to trace the mark. She didn't ask his permit to touch him; and even if he'd cared to object, he might have been held down and inspected anyway, for that was the efficient reputation of Virginia's shadow hand. "This brand was deep-laid. When did you-"

"In the fortnight I've worn it, its appearance has been exactly thus save the first day it was made."

_"How?"_

"That blond brute-" The epithet rang sour to his ears. "Stephen is full of mysteries, the least of which is how he could lay preserved in a tomb for near a century, and wake perfectly intact at the end of his unnatural slumber. The healing was his work, and even I can't begin to guess how it was accomplished."

Her eyes followed Stephen with new regard. "Can he be trusted? I'd rather leave him than contend with an unknown factor."

"No offense, but I'd sooner turn you off. If anything, Stephen is too good for the deficient faith I have in me to give him. Moreover, he's held my-" Anthony fumbled his shirt laces, the faintest snatch of some memory or dream surfacing unbidden. "He's held my life in his hands. I would put it there again without hesitation."

The look she gave Anthony was strange. "I'd be more comforted if you were wont to place your convictions in others."

Anthony yanked the knot tight. "Oh, you know my past behavior so well that you can suggest my present is unlike me?"

"Virginia does, and there's very little we don't share between us," she said archly.

"Wonderful," he muttered, as the timely arrival of Stephen and Joyeux turned his attention to more practical matters.

It was universal agreed that Anthony's band should be prepared to meet trouble. To that end, Anthony donned his armor, putting aside the lesser concern that its ruddy hue would identify him more surely than if he rode beneath a streaming banner bearing his colors. Stephen likewise armed himself, causing Joyeux to split his assistance between the two until Natalya took over Stephen's buckles.

Stephen's first sight of Anthony fully suited was more than gratifying, for its admiration lingered over-long. Anthony had watched for it, and marked the way Stephen's gaze fled when he realized he was in turn observed.

They pressed through the day, resting only when the sun was at its zenith. Anthony conveyed their tale to Natalya in spurts, and in the same fashion heard her own: How she'd come to be in Stane's custody rather than Virginia.

"His summons arrived the day after you departed," she told Anthony, but the others listened too. "Some pressing business matter in Heppouge that required her personal attention -- it reeked of insincerity. But Virginia wanted to know his true purpose that she could counter it, so I borrowed her name and her gowns, took a pair of green guards who'd never laid eyes on either of us, and went in her place."

"But Stane has seen her, if he doesn't know you."

"I wore a half veil." Natalya's smile was sharp-edged. "Also, one red-haired vixen is the same as another to him when there's a ripe, perfumed bosom on display."

Anthony assured her, "I could tell you apart by your breasts alone," and could actually _feel_ Stephen's radiating disapproval.

"Spoken like a true connoisseur," Joyeux said.

Stephen kicked his horse a few more lengths to the lead.

"What has bitten him? Have you-"

"No," Anthony frowned. "But then, my offer was not to its usual standards." Almost reluctant, he recalled Rhodes saying: _Was he chaste, too?_ "Did you learn Stane's mind?"

Natalya shrugged and continued her tale. "He proposed that I -- meaning Virginia -- should abandon the Stark house and pledge myself to him, with the insinuation that it would be the only way I might weather myself through some coming storm. He also made it clear that my chances would increase as his mistress." She added matter-of-fact, "If his balls were worth my life in exchange, I would have had them in hand before his guards could have struck me down."

Anthony was glad that Stephen was spared that image.

"When I refused, as he'd known I would, I was imprisoned. It took me but a day to beguile, fight, and finally sneak my way free. I drew upon my eyes and ears in Stane's own city to piece together what I could, and sent word to Virginia to be on guard. The warning must have reached her in time, for Stane found Mainhett's gates closed tight against him where he'd expected no resistance."

"And you stayed away?"

"Someone needed to watch the enemy from without. While Stane has been busy showing his front to your walls, I've studied his back. In his arrogance, he put himself on weak ground and scrambles to fortify his position."

Anthony said, "Mainhett was supposed to be confused and headless: it is not. I was not supposed to return alive: here I am."

"Indeed, where he thought to succeed with a troop of his own guard, he now calls up reinforcements from the surrounding cities of his allegiance, and buys up every mercenary he can lay hands upon."

"His Bishop spoke the truth. Stane is driven to extremes." He'd always spurned brute force, preferring to conqueror by his own subtlety and wits. "So he purchases an army when he suddenly finds himself in need of one. Has he made himself field marshal, too? Oh, and let me guess: he has put Justinus in command of his artillery, if he has any."

"Stane's force may be motley, but it numbers two battalions and swelling where you have none," Natalya said. "And if you mean to enter Mainhett-"

"A fortress is best defended from within."

"-then we will have to make our way through that hostile ocean to reach it."

"No, if luck is with us we can crawl beneath it."

"How?" Natalya laughed. "Like badgers?"

"We'll take the tunnels," Anthony told her, and was bolstered by her affronted expression, for any secret that could be kept beneath the spymaster's feet must be safe from his enemies.

  
~~~~~  
  


It was three days to reach the edge of Anthony's lands. Stephen was grateful for the horses; his own mare had the heaviest burden, and he spent stretches jogging beside her to keep from overtaxing her. But in truth the journey could have been made in the same time afoot, for Anthony chose a circuitous route that avoided roads and the improved chance they presented for finding trouble.

By the second day, the landscape had changed from the gentle roll of fields and thickets to foothills strewn with woods, and their progress suffered. But as Anthony said while ducking the branches and vines that snagged at them all, "Appreciate the cover while it lasts. Mainhett lies upon a hilltop, and the treeline is quite low. Our final approach will be through wild meadows that can't hide a mouse from a hawk's eyes."

That night was the last they would risk a fire, and Anthony brewed up the rest of his strange, bitter coffee. His obscene slurps and groans of satisfaction drove Stephen off to check the horses; but he knew his pretense was seen through when his retreat was chased by Anthony's laughter and Natalya's keen gaze.

> _"He does it because you continue to show it affects you."_
> 
> _"If he knows it bothers me, that should be reason enough for him to cease."_
> 
> _She took up his hand in both of Hers, uncurling fingers that made a fist. "He gives himself at your feet in the only way he knows how."_
> 
> _"Well I don't want him there." The words sounded petulant even to him, and he sighed._
> 
> _She dropped a kiss in his palm. "Stephen, Stephen... you've no idea what having him there entails, and you're afraid to learn."_
> 
> _"I am pledged to You," he said helplessly, for She knew him better than he knew himself._
> 
> _"Your heart is wide, and I choose to take only my share." She reminded, "My nature lacks the jealousy to desire it all."_

Stephen was relieved to find on his return that the conversation had turned to strategy. He sat with Joyeux and listened close to Anthony and Natalya argue. While it was clear that Anthony valued her as a source of information, he still clung to his own opinions foremost.

"This is no different than your ill-conceived plan to sneak into Heppouge yourself and steal Virginia free," she said. "Or did you even have a plan?"

Anthony responded at once, "I would have worked out the particulars once I'd mapped the full extent of the problem. And to do that here, I need to be the one to scout ahead."

"We could scout together," Joyeux tried.

"And be four times as easy to spot? No, spying is my area. I'll do it, and I assure you I won't be seen."

"Stephen?" Anthony said.

"You want my support, not my advice," Stephen said, "so instead have an ultimatum: the task is mine."

Natalya glared at him. "Is that so? What experience have you doing it?"

Stephen gave back to her, "What experience have you with arranging an army, or holding a fort under siege? Because I can read the situation at a glance, and with another tell you the strengths and weaknesses of both sides."

"I could do the same," Anthony muttered.

"You know you couldn't without study, which can be done at the rear -- in safety -- once I've brought back what I've learned. And you cannot be caught; you're the key that would open your gates to Stane in an instant."

"Then I'll take Stephen with me," Natalya said, assessing him anew. "He doesn't know the approach to the city as I do."

"If we both go, do you trust Lord Stark to remain behind with Joyeux?"

She bit off a curse. "I... must yield to your point."

"That's courtesy, to speak over my head as if I am not sitting _right here._ "

Stephen clapped his thighs and stood. "It's decided. Natalya, I welcome any directions you can provide me. Joyeux, guard Lord Stark well for me while I'm gone."

"And what of poor, wretched Anthony, who is ignored and slighted by turns?"

Stephen's retort died when he noticed how Anthony's expression and dark eyes did not match. _Oh Mother, if he can arrest me with a look, then I am afraid of what more he could do to me given the chance._ He wet his lips and composed his sentiment with care. "This knight would be... honored for Lord Stark to hold faith for his speedy and safe return."

"Lord Stark will do no such thing. But say Anthony and you'll have it."

"Anthony, then," Stephen said.

  
~~~~~  
  


Stephen traveled through the night, little hampered by fatigue or the gloom. He went unarmored save for his shield, which bore a cloth disguise of Natalya's devising. Her directions proved excellent, but in truth he could have found his way by always heading uphill, for he'd heard that the city crowned the summit like a jewel.

His final approach was from the south, where the treeline grew closest on the flat side of a slope. The main ridge line ran almost west to east, with a lesser ridge joining it in a shape like a bent cross. The land closest the walls was for the most part untillable, rocky and wind-scoured; he'd also learned that the city had grown in its inhospitable place by vantage of the prevalent timber and limestone.

With everything he'd been told, he was still unprepared for his first sight of Mainhett.

Her outer walls were squat and powerful, defensively situated to perfection. Her curtains were studded with angled bastions of the new- No, the design would have been made common in the years he'd slept, but this was still the finest example he'd seen. He noted how the walls grew out of their natural rock roots, yet their tops were as level as calm water in a bowl. Anthony's father had been a builder indeed.

The city was larger than he'd thought as well, with fine rooftops peeking above the battlements. Her inhabitants must number in the thousands.

It struck him that _Lord of the city of Mainhett_ was not an idle boast, yet he could no more envision Anthony as administrant than he would have believed, before he'd seen it, that the man would play at mending a peasant's thatch.

_No, he'd worked in earnest, as if any task acquired by his hands deserved to be done well._

_What a spectacle he would make, heading a procession through those massive gates!_

Stephen turned his attention to the attackers arrayed beneath the walls. He counted, moved under cover, and counted again, until he'd seen them from all sides and was more than confident in his estimate of their strength. He'd faced more, but rarely worse odds.

It was near morning again when he re-met the camp, and fell to bed at once despite Anthony's drowsy protests, for his findings would best be given in daylight.

  
~~~~~  
  


"You're sure of the distance?" Even as Anthony said it, he stared unhappily at the diagram Stephen had built in the dirt. He'd presented the lay of the walls, the placement of the bastions -- even the conditions of the ground beneath -- to uncanny accuracy. If he could recall all that, there was no reason he should mistake the army's position.

"I could not measure it exact, but it is reliable."

"Those gods-damned-" Anthony encircled one mercenary encampment with his own stick. "They sit practically atop the tunnel's hidden entrance. It's a miserable piece of ground; only fools would choose it to rest their heads."

Natalya said, "They would be fools if their only concern was comfort."

"She's right," Stephen said. "We face more a mob than a disciplined army. Stane's own guards have taken the best place for themselves, and around them are the guards from other cities. You can read the lines of mutual distrust between them and the mercenaries -- here, here, and here -- and likewise between individual bands."

"The tunnel can't be opened without effort. I thought to use Stephen's strength and the cover of dark to do it, but if those wretches are as close as you say, we'll be detected for sure." Anthony stabbed at the dirt. "I'll have to buy their silence."

"You won't be able," Stephen said.

"My money is the same as Stane's; I'll double what he's promised them."

"Oh, Stane might pay them enough to keep them supplied and fed for the duration, but the real reward will come from the city's plunder. You can't match that prospect, and there'd surely be an extra bounty for your capture."

"Stane desires Mainhett intact. He wouldn't let her be sacked." Even as he said it, Anthony's doubts rose.

Natalya said, "It's your workshops he'd preserve -- and it'd take all his guards to hold them safe from his rabble. The rest of Mainhett can burn for all he'd care, and he'd torch your house himself."

Anthony had held as a final resort giving himself to Stane to spare the city, even as he'd known that any bargain struck was unlikely to be kept. "What should I do, then? There's nowhere close I can turn for aid, and even if Rhodes succeeds with Prince Furiast, he won't bring the numbers I'd need."

A great boom rolled down slope, followed by more. All of them recognized the sound of cannons beginning their daily work.

Stephen's head was cocked as if he could learn even more from the noise; and knowing him, he could. "Two new companies swelled the ranks even as I watched. The force we face could double in the fortnight or more we'd spend waiting on Rhodes."

"I should have killed him when I was close," Natalya muttered. The knife she'd been dancing between her fingers flew and embedded in a slender beech trunk. "It seems now it would have been worth my life."

"If I'd swallowed my pride and bent my knee to him, this whole issue might have been avoided." Though it would have tortured his conscience, the same as it had his father's.

"Is our best course truly to enter the city?" Stephen said.

"I'll not sit without and watch her taken apart. And from inside... you cannot fathom the devastation I could make. It will be as if the very sky opened up and poured down fire instead of rain."

Stephen looked at him almost sadly, even as some purpose hardened his features. "Then I will have to gain us entry."

Anthony's curiosity was like a terrible hope. "How?"

"Attempting to scale the walls would leave us exposed as easy marks. It should be the gates, if there is some way to assure they would open to us."

Natalya began to laugh, until she saw the faces of those around her. "Gods, you can't think-"

"Why not the tunnel if you intend to fight?"

"Even I can't fight and unseal the entrance both. And if I may choose my foe, I'll take house guards over campaign-hardened veterans. Our incursion will rely on speed and confusion, and I know which group will be slower to organize resistance. But it will still end in disaster if the gates remain shut."

"I... could signal them open," Natalya said, "but it must be from this ridge here if it's to be recognized, and to do so would strip away the advantage of surprise. And even with everything to your favor, I can't see how you might possibly succeed."

Joyeux told her, "You haven't truly seen our knight at work. If anyone could come through hell unscathed, it's him."

That praise went unheeded as Stephen drew in the dirt. "This is our route. The ideal time is the end of the first dark watch; it can be tonight if we move soon." 

"Make that Stephen's route and mine," Anthony said, readying his reasons that he might quash protests. "We're the only two armored for battle; we two will go."

  
~~~~~  
  


"Was my decision unsound?" Anthony's voice was muffled by his helm's visor. Its visage was disconcerting to look upon, cold and inhuman but also imperious. If Stephen had to describe the man beneath without knowing him, his impression would be sorely wrong.

"Stand as I positioned you and don't move."

"I didn't move. I asked a question."

The trees were thinner here, leaving enough room to maneuver. Stephen gauged Anthony's size beside him before running his shield up, over Anthony's head, twisting to go down his back -- never touching him, but learning how best he might give additional cover on the field. "Now duck."

"Duck? Oh, gods." Anthony crouched just in time; the shield skimmed through the space where his shoulders had been a second before. "If I'd been any slower-"

"In battle even that would not have been quick enough. Again!" This time when Anthony bent, Stephen grasped the back of his neck and held him there. "Feel this position." He gave a gentle shake. "When I make that call again -- and I certainly will have to -- you should be no higher than this, if not lower."

Anthony twisted out from beneath his hold. "I _have_ fought before."

"In lessons and skirmishes."

"Step in a pond or the sea and you'll be equally wet."

 _They are nothing alike,_ Stephen almost said, for he recalled his first true battle as if hours had since passed instead of years; and he remembered how none of the advice he'd received the eve before had prepared him in the slightest.

The illusion of a dispassionate automaton lifted with Anthony's visor. What misery had not reached his voice before was all up in his eyes. "Will you answer me?"

"Had your decision been unsound I would have questioned it."

Anthony stared at the star device upon Stephen's cuirass. "It's just... thinking about what awaits us, I regret losing Natalya's skill. She did manage to bring you down."

"Her speed would not hold out forever against that press of numbers." Besides, Stephen was grateful to place her on the ridge, where she could hold signaling the gates until the surprise of his own charge had worn off.

"And Joyeux..." Natalya had been furious, but he'd been hurt to be ordered away. "I am no longer convinced that it's necessary for her continue her spying, or for him to meet Rhodes' return with our news; and I wonder if I've done them a disservice to keep this fight for myself."

"You struggle with your own selfish desire to see them safe." Stephen well knew it, having done the same himself.

"That also," Anthony murmured.

Stephen knew what Anthony wanted -- even in the growing dusk it was writ painfully clear on him -- as he also knew he would not, could not give any assurance that might prove false. "If nothing else, it solves the problem of our formation. I could see no other way but with myself at the point, those two in the middle and you to guard our rear. I much prefer having you close beside me."

For once, Anthony did not twist the sentiment.

"Can you dismount in a hurry? I intend to leave the horses before they're cut from beneath us. The poor beasts deserve a better fate, and neither of us could afford to be pinned if they were to fall badly."

"I'll manage."

"And the last flare?" Natalya had carried but two.

"It's ready when you call for it."

Then there was truly little preparation left to make. "I would pray," Stephen said.

"What should I do?"

"It is tradition to meet battle with a freshly sharpened blade -- or so I understand."

Anthony almost smiled at that. "I happen to know the maker of this wondrous sword. It is his opinion that its edge is sufficiently keen to split a hair down the length."

Stephen knelt, his shield upright before him. "Then rest if you can. Eat nothing else, and drink but sparingly. And wait." Waiting was the worst and largest part of any war. That was the last thought he allowed before he emptied his mind. He poured out his worries -- and to a lesser extent the prowl of his senses into the surrounding woods -- until the greatest thing that remained was his love for Her.

> _"Mother, grant me the unfailing strength to see this task through. In return I give my unwavering devotion, as I always have. I pray-"_

"Stephen? I said, _Are you chaste?_ "

He was aware of Anthony sitting beside him, sword across his knees. But that was all the attention Stephen gave.

> _"I pray that it be good and pleasing to You-"_

"If you are, there's no shame in it," Anthony continued. "Especially not if -- and this is what I suspect -- your purity is somehow bound up with whatever mystic power you command."

"I have told you, there is no power but Her will, and I am its instrument."

"Then does she require her adherents to live as holy monks, never yielding to the body's superfluous desires?"

> _She alighted before them both. "If you lie to him the matter is dropped."_

Although it was so very tempting, Stephen shook his head. "I would not falsely present You- Her. As a mother, She is far more earthly and... lusty than the god of my childhood. Had I wanted, I could have spread children behind me from the great cold north to the southern shore beyond the sea."

> _"They would have been hardy," She agreed, "but none their father's equal, for it is his essence that sets him apart."_

Anthony shifted. "Then you aren't chaste?"

"I know that lords marry for advantage and make trysts to satisfy their appetites. I doubt you would understand my heart's simplicity." Her care was the only permanence he'd ever known, for it would be cruel to attach himself to another person while he was bound to his endless and often arduous path.

"I _try_ to grasp you, even as I suspect I've been insulted."

"You don't," Stephen said, his fingers curling tight around his shield's rim. "You only wish to know whose fault it was that I would not couple with you. Well rest assured, the defect is surely mine. And now that you know, you may _leave me in peace,_ for you chose a very rude moment to distract me."

Anthony stood and stalked a few steps apart. He didn't turn back when he spoke, his voice softer than his posture. "I apologize. I was struck by the realization that we are unlikely to both meet the sunrise whole, and I... there is still so much of you that I don't know. I should have begun in a different place."

"What you'd regret would be your own unanswered questions."

> _"Stephen..."_

"That is neither true nor fair!"

> _"Children, save your heated blood for the coming battle."_

Anthony started and jumped back around, his still-sheathed sword held low and defensive. "Who said that?"

Stephen hung his head. "You know who it was." It had a while since he'd last given Her cause to speak to him as a child.

> _"Bring him near again."_

"She... bids you come close."

Anthony's sword lowered, but that was all. "She might ask herself."

"She just did, through me. I think you are to receive Her blessing."

"I'm not sure I want it," Anthony said, yet he did return to Stephen's side. "I'm even less sure I believe-" His eyes grew wide above a slack expression, for he'd surely felt Her reach up and press a kiss to the edge of his mouth. "Oh," he breathed, touching his fingers there as if he might catch a trace through his gauntlet. "What is this calm that's taken me?"

Stephen remained kneeling, but She raised his chin and bent to kiss him also upon the lips.

"I have read that the mind can achieve a state of absolute fearlessness by embracing death as if it is certain. Is that what I feel?"

"No." Although Stephen knew a similar freedom, for he'd never feared that ultimate consequence. It didn't touch him even now. "She has assured you that tonight you will stride into hell and come out the other side; what you feel is invincible."

Anthony stared down as he clenched his hand in a fist, opened it, and did it again. "It's heady, whatever it is."

Stephen sank back off his knees. "Come, sit with me. If you were earnest about learning me, then I'll answer what I can in the time we have."

  
~~~~~  
  


The odd calm persisted even while they tacked up the horses, for the beasts did not shudder and fidget as they would have if they'd sensed nervousness from their masters. Anthony mounted and made a final check on his armor and weapons; all was as it should be.

Stephen, even with his weight, more leaped into his saddle than pulled himself into it. He'd tied his reins to his stirrups that his hands would be free, where Anthony planned to let his dangle, knowing his horse would follow.

"Are you ready?" They'd both fallen to whispers even though there was no need.

Anthony clapped down his visor. "As I'll ever be." He was... determined, and perhaps grim, but that was all.

They left cover beneath a slender moon. Thanks to its feeble light, they were able to nearly reach the rear lines before the first sentry challenged them. That man's cry was the signal to start their flight, for Stephen spurred his horse, stopped a shot with his shield, and struck the sentry down as he hurtled past.

The horses flattened to a gallop. Neither were war-trained, but they plunged gamely on as shouts rose all around them and torches flared. Anthony felt his excitement take hold at last as he drew his sword. There were few shots, for the guards had more chance of hitting each other than the two targets flying headlong through them.

Stephen became snarled by the real first resistance: a group of guards waving pikes and still dressed as they'd rolled from their beds, commanded by a barking sergeant. He turned his horse at the last and flung himself from the saddle, right into the thickest knot of them, and began flattening all he could reach. Pike heads rang as they glanced off his armor.

There came a cry of, "It's Lord Stark!" and the defenders hesitated as if they faced not flesh and blood but a vengeful spirit returned from a watery grave.

Anthony took that break to throw himself down also and wade after Stephen, who'd left but groaning bodies for him to avoid.

The press thickened again, and they plowed on side by side. By the growing roar around them, the entire army was roused now, but no one could believe the audacity of two attackers alone, so much of the activity was a rush to swell the rear ranks.

A halberd raked Anthony's side, throwing sparks. He closed and cut its owner down. His steel didn't care that the next arm he took was clad in mail; after that he found a methodical pace that was almost like forge-work, and made use of the same strength he'd earned over his anvil. His heart matched the rhythm in his chest, steady and tireless.

Stephen spun and took with his shield a blow that was meant for Anthony's neck. There was no chance to thank him for it, no room for thoughts of any kind. It was as if the chaos had influence over time itself. Anthony saw another blade come at him with exaggerated slowness; turned it aside with his vambrace; sliced half through a torso and watched the foe topple. Then the sluggish flow of seconds caught up in a flood, and he heard the scream.

Stephen hauled him forward as if Anthony had been dazed. Ahead stood more pikes, bristling out from a true defensive formation. "The flare, now!"

Anthony cut it from its cord, struck the trigger mechanism on his hilt, and threw it into the line. He closed his eyes but the light seared through his lids.

When he could see again, Stephen was... dancing with the pikes that slashed blindly at him. He wove and dodged and spun, until somehow he'd collected the shafts of ten or more in the crook of his arm. He drove his shield's rim into the bundle and shattered them all, then threw the useless heads back at the guards.

It was no wonder that most who saw the feat broke and fled before his inexorable approach.

Anthony saw light and activity upon his battlements when he risked shifting his attention there. The gates were also alive, though he wished he hadn't seen how far away they still were. For all their work, he and Stephen had crossed perhaps half of hell, and the easier half at that.

If they'd fought for every step before, now they clawed for every inch. Blows fell upon them three and four at once. Anthony's helm was struck so hard that the inside seam cut his temple, but better to blink away blood than to lose an eye.

Where Stephen's plate became dented and misshapen from so much abuse, Anthony's held. His trouble became the joints where he was protected only by his under armor, for the lucky thrusts that found them drew more blood. His knee buckled with an impact, and Stephen was there to shield his recovery even at the sacrifice of leaving himself unguarded.

The strike came from Stephen's blind spot. Anthony saw it coming, lunged off his good leg, and drove his sword up. It scraped beneath the edge of a cuirass and bit deep, but not soon enough to stop that enemy's thrust from punching into the vulnerable spot beneath Stephen's raised arm.

Stephen pulled that weapon from his flesh himself and hurled it into the crowd. "Fight with your back to mine!" He switched his shield to his other hand and earned them some progress by simply battering down the next rank of foes, fresh rage fueling his already incredible strength.

Anthony's ears rang, else he was sure they'd be filled with the echo of his own harsh breathing. He could no longer see what transpired ahead, but felt some of it in the impacts that had Stephen stumbling back into him. At times it seemed that Anthony bore the paladin's full weight, the only thing keeping him upright. Likewise he was sent crashing into Stephen, wrecking his balance or worse. Then, for a terrifying moment, they fell shoulder against back and seemed to brace each other up.

There came the dimly recognized bray of a horn, then more.

Stephen faltered, and Anthony turned long enough to take the leg out from under the closest of those who pressed him. He felt bone splinter beneath his sword's edge; his blade ran with blood, and the grip was slippery with it.

Despite their fear of Stephen and his shield, the defenders had begun to learn the limits of his reach. The blows that came at him were fewer, but more confident and better placed. They increasingly found their mark, and the blood that streamed down his mangled faulds could only be his.

Fear's icy hand gripped Anthony for the first time that night. He recalled that only one of them had been promised passage through hell; and he remembered Stephen, fresh-risen in his tomb, vowing to fight with the last drop of life in him.

It seemed Stephen meant to do that now. If his body were to say he was as good as dead, he would ignore it and slog on.

Anthony tried to cover more of Stephen's flanks, but he could not even cover himself. A crushing hit took him upon his off shoulder. His pauldron held but simply transferred the force to the flesh beneath, and he felt his bone grind in its socket.

A new furor arose by the gates. He prayed it was Natalya's signal being answered.

Stephen stumbled once more and crashed to one knee. His shield's support kept him from going down on his face, but he was again unguarded. Anthony turned two blades away from him even as a third pierced the soft inside of Stephen's thigh.

"Get up!" It was bizarre to realize that it was his own voice screaming. "Back on your feet you great, stupid... fool! Damn you, move!"

Stephen raised up his shield, meaning for Anthony to take it.

He did, but it required dropping his sword, for his off hand was all but useless now.

"Anthony, go. Go!" Stephen's face was ashen beneath the splatter of blood, and he gripped his middle as if he might keep his life inside him precious moments longer.

Anthony swore and hauled at him, even as he took a blow that should have been fatal with the shield. It was so much lighter than his sword that his arm felt strangely loose and unencumbered, responding with renewed vigor to his will. "Up! We're almost there!" He scarcely felt the impacts that rained down on the shield's face, but he was pummeled on his back and driven to the dirt.

Stephen reached for him.

The blows quit so suddenly that Anthony was sure it was the relief of oblivion taking him. But the burn of his wounds cut through his senses, and when he looked up it was to the impossible sight of his foes turning on each other.

No, more light had been added to the scene, and he saw that some of the surcoats were crimson marked with gold. It was Anthony's own guards spilling from the now-open gates to encircle him and bear him home.

His strength poured out of him at once, yet he somehow dragged and carried Stephen through the clear corridor that his guards made. Their protective ring around him shrank with his progress, until he was inside the great stone sally port. The portcullis made the very earth tremble when it shrieked and dropped behind him; the cries of the men it had crushed were soon muffled behind the thud of the closing gates.

The unfortunate enemies who'd pressed inside now found themselves trapped in the killing field between outer and inner walls. Those who stood and fought were cut down as surely as those who turned back and collected, useless, up against the enormous ironclad doors.

Anthony scrabbled at the wall near him, but the stones were smooth and he found no purchase. The shield clattering, he slipped to the ground, where beside him Stephen was curled battered and motionless in a patch of spreading blood.

  
~~~~~  
  


The rose scent was wrong, sweeter and more tame than Her fragrance. Only gentle sounds reached his ears, and it took him long, confused minutes to puzzle out why that should surprise him.

He drifted, his body's aches but a dim reminder that he was still tethered to it.

Sleep dragged him back down.

The next time Stephen awoke he was more sure about what had happened to land him in a state of utter weakness and exhaustion, but still uncertain of where he was or how he'd come to be there. The blanket pinning him seemed to weigh as much as if it was made of lead, yet it was nearly the softest thing he'd ever had against his skin. His armor and clothes were gone, and what must be bandages constricted him in many places.

Detail of the recent battle emerged from where it had been jumbled in his mind, one amid many. He remembered Anthony, and his eyes shot open as he levered himself up with a groan.

"Oh- Oh no, don't move!" 

He didn't think it odd that he should be attended, but instead of an old nurse he saw a fine lady rise and put aside the great book she'd held in her lap. "Where-" His voice would not function, and there was no moisture in his mouth to wet his cracked lips.

She hurried over and perched beside him, the spread of her skirts a dizzying riot of color. He'd never seen cloth so grand. "Stephen, is it? Anthony warned me that you might... forget yourself when you woke, but you haven't, have you?"

> _"Then he's safe."_
> 
> _"Oh yes. You succeeded, as I knew you must."_

Stephen's lucid eyes must have been answer enough. He was offered a drink from a silver cup, and it was a blessed relief trickling down his throat. The taste suggested an infusion of some herb he knew he should be able to name. "Thank you. M'lady. Is this...?"

"Anthony will doubtless be here soon. He demanded to know the instant you woke, although-" Her bright brow grew troubled as she gazed down at him. "-he was the only one who held faith that you would. I understand your armor had to be cut from you."

"Indeed, in places it had been punctured with such violence that the sharp edges had embedded in your flesh," Anthony said from the door. He was wan and bruised, and he approached with a hobble, but Stephen's pulse still quickened at the sight of him whole. "The first physician who tended you swore you would not live out the hour. I had him beaten and thrown out -- well, thrown out -- and found another. That one would not vouch you'd survive the night, but I had to let him stay. There were no more I could summon."

"How long did I sleep this time?"

"The better part of three days." Anthony sat on the opposite side of the bed, which was so large it could hold a family. "How do you feel? Are you thirsty? Hungry? The physician said to give you broth only, but three days and you're still alive, so what does he know, eh?" His teasing did not reach his eyes, which burned intent. "I see you've met Virginia."

"I feel as though an army has trampled me, but having made it this far I'll surely recover." Stephen struggled to free one hand from the blanket, but once it was out he was unsure what he should do with it, and let it fall to his side. His arm was wrapped from elbow to wrist. "Lady Stark has kindly given me drink, though that concoction will have little effect on me. I should like some plain water."

"Oh," Virginia said, "I'm not-" She halted when Anthony's gaze snapped to hers, and they traded a silent conversation made of increasingly raised eyebrows. "I'll fetch it," she said with a demureness that didn't match her, and she swept from the bedroom as if she truly would, rather than find a servant to do it.

Anthony's attention returned to Stephen, his mouth taking an odd slant above his fresh-groomed beard. "She's not my wife."

"My apologies," Stephen murmured, "and I must beg her forgiveness, too. The way you spoke of her, your obvious fondness... is she your mistress, then? How should I address her that I won't make a further fool of myself?"

"I'm not-" Anthony began before snapping his jaw shut. He tried again, "Virginia is my _steward._ She runs my affairs, although I count her as close and good a companion as Rhodes and Joyeux. All this while you thought I was wed?"

Stephen dragged his hand over his eyes. "Mother, I'm a greater fool than I realize." But at Anthony's age there would be few lords who weren't. It had not been an unreasonable assumption.

"That makes us fools together; I can't believe it fled my mind to tell you."

"I'm sure it was occupied by many greater concerns."

"She is very handsome," Anthony mused. "There was a time I would have welcomed- Oh gods, and sweet Natalya is her spymaster; I should count myself lucky to still have my balls."

They stared at each other, stuck at a brief loss. Stephen's fingers plucked at the blanket.

"Do the quarters please you? Is the bed to your liking? Is the window too bright; would you like the shutters drawn?"

Stephen could not say that he thought the room fit for a prince. If anything, he was unsettled by its size and opulence. "It is excessive for my needs in every way."

"Nonsense. You should have the finest of everything I can offer.

Virginia swept back in with a pitcher. "What Anthony does not tell you is that you rest in his bed."

Much was explained. "Then I will not be comfortable here." Stephen tried not to show his renewed interest as he studied the furnishings again. Red and gold were the predominant colors, running through everything from the linens and rugs to a pair of fine armchairs, even to the painted lintels above the doors.

Anthony insisted to pour the cup and give it to Stephen's hand. "My bed is magnificent. I challenge you to say you've slept in finer. Or is the trouble one of association?"

"The trouble is that I have, without knowing it, ousted you from your own chamber."

"Then you fret over nothing. I wouldn't be sl-" Anthony brought himself short as if surprised he'd said that much.

Stephen turned his plea to Virginia. "M'lady, if another room can be spared I would very much appreciate it."

For some reason, Virginia's response was directed at Anthony. "I shall take the matter up with Gervays."

"My majordomo." Anthony frowned. "You may have your choice of beds when you are recovered enough to be moved. And I had better not find you camped beneath the stairs or hiding in the stables."

The latter notion had occurred to Stephen. He tried not to betray it in his demeanor but felt certain that Anthony saw it anyway. "I will be on my feet in less time than you think."

Anthony did not seem reassured. He said, as if against his better judgement, "When I saw the extent of the injuries you'd taken -- realized you'd given so much of your shield for my protection at the cost of your own-" He halted, at a loss to explain, but an echo of that fear and anger reached his eyes.

Virginia said gently, "Anthony, let him rest."

"As should you," Stephen reminded.

"Mm."

Virginia rose to collect her book, missing the quick clasp Anthony gave Stephen's hand; or perhaps she'd sensed enough to allow the opportunity.

Once Stephen was alone again, and he stopped fighting it, he was asleep in moments.

  
~~~~~  
  


Stephen dozed but lightly the rest of the day, welcoming the interludes of activity that roused him.

Leaning on a discreet servant, he refreshed himself as best he could while his bed linens were changed. (He learned after that the steady man had been Gervays, come to give his personal assistance -- likely at Anthony's behest.) Next, his stomach woke to the aroma of food, and he devoured first a bowl of gruel and then another of stew. And when the sun was nearly down, the physician returned with a colleague and a pair of apprentices to scowl and tug their beards over Stephen's miraculous survival. He had to shout and chase them away before he could be examined in earnest.

That should have been the end of his visitors for the day. But during full night, when the house was closed up and still, he had one more.

"Anthony?"

There was a scuff and a curse as the figure tripped on a rug.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying not to disturb you," Anthony whispered. "Damn this leg."

Stephen tossed back the blanket and made to rise. "If you need something from your own chamber, you shouldn't worry about disturbing me. Let me find a light."

"No! No light, no fire, not until I'm out of these clothes." Yet Anthony remained where he was, fidgeting as if he'd forgotten his purpose -- or had suddenly acquired six others, all clamoring for his attention.

Stephen approached with caution. His eyes told him little in the dark, but there was a noxious odor in the air. "Then let me help you."

"Gods, how are you-"

"Standing? I told you it would be sooner than you expected." Stephen took his arm to steady him.

"You did say that, and I should have believed it. You are continually astonishing."

"Can you get the laces?"

"Not here, in my dressing room." Anthony nudged in the direction of a side door, offering the explanation readily enough, "I have been milling gunpowder, and apart from leaving charcoal stains on everything I touch, there is enough residue on me that my shirt at least should be put aside to be laundered with particular care."

They moved for the dressing room together, Anthony's limp more pronounced than Stephen remembered from earlier. "If I ask how you could see to work, I won't like the answer, will I?" He withheld the opinion that Anthony was no more fit to work than he was.

Anthony's grin flashed. "My workshop is equipped with contained lamps of my own design; they can be extinguished from a distance by a mechanical system."

"The solution sounds clever."

"Oh, it is. I'll demonstrate it for you one day. If you care to be shown."

"In truth I do, very much." There was everything yet to see -- Anthony's house and workshops, the city and its inhabitants -- and no time for leisure. The artillery was quiet now, but he'd heard its distant rumble at two points during the day. Uneven and dispirited, the volleys had suggested that Mainhett's defense held strong, yet the real attrition would strike her supplies as the siege wore on. For that matter, "Why gunpowder?"

Anthony stripped out of his shirt with a hiss, and deposited that garment in a sort of box that seemed special made for the purpose, for it was lined with tin. "I forget that you slumbered through much of the last century," he murmured. "It would be a pleasure to sit you down in my library and show you the advances you have missed; and perhaps I will when this is over, if my house still intact and we two are still alive."

How unfair it was that a few careless words from Anthony could make Stephen hope for something that would not have otherwise occurred to him to want. "I saw cannons and arquebuses before I- before. Though I am sure those would seem uncommon crude to you. I wondered why you did not keep the powder in store."

"I do, but not in sufficient quantity for my purpose." Anthony dropped his breeches before remembering that his boots were still in the way, and kicked free with assistance and more cursing. Like Stephen, he was wrapped with bandages, but at least one of his showed a fresh, dark stain seeping through. "Thank you. You make nearly as good a manservant as Joyeux, though never tell him I said it."

"You must be teasing, because you know I wouldn't."

"Yes," Anthony agreed.

Stephen expanded his attention to the rest of the room. It was larger than Carlo's hut, with a ceiling so tall that in the dark it almost did not exist. "Do you have clothes I might use?" If his plate had to be cut from him then his arming suit was probably likewise ruined. Not for the first time, he had nothing to his name but his shield.

"My wardrobe is yours for the taking, though I doubt some of the articles will fit you." Anthony reached for a shelf, but stopped to rub his hands together in distaste. They gave a dry, gritty sound. "I should make use of a wash basin."

"I will come with you," Stephen decided.

"There is no need," Anthony said at once. "You should return to bed."

"I would also like to wash."

Anthony tried, "You could have a real bath tomorrow, heated water and a deep tub."

"Some movement would be welcome, to chase the stiffness from my limbs."

"Then you should wait on the bath, for the distance I go is not far."

"Anthony." Stephen said it as firm as he could. "After what you- I can't believe you would suddenly find modesty in my presence. So name what else it is that's amiss."

"You notice as much as Joyeux, too," Anthony mumbled, but there was no further protest as he directed Stephen to select clothes for them both. He took a flint and lamp from his quarters, and led through to another chamber, this one smaller but clad in bare stone.

When Stephen struck the light, he saw that there was a basin with a sort of spigot above it, along with a shelf that held, among other things, a cake of soap. He lit the other lamps he found, and set his on a long stone bench. The sound of pouring water made him turn back. "How?"

Anthony explained, "This pipe leads to a cistern; the whole system is fed by gravity." He drew but a little water only, and that was soon murky from the soot he sluiced off his arms.

"Is this another advance I've missed?"

"No. In fact, my fa- It was adapted from an ancient design." The basin emptied through a drain in the bottom, and Anthony filled it fresh. "There. You've seen how it works. I'll leave you to-"

Stephen realized what was strange about the way Anthony stood, always facing away. "Turn around and let me see you."

Anthony's shoulders slumped in defeat, and he gave himself up for inspection.

It was a wretched sight. His face was haggard, and his gaze burned with the same intensity Stephen recalled from earlier. He surely suffered from fever, but that alone could not explain his eyes, or the tremor of his hands that he tried to disguise by clasping them tight. 

> _"Mother, grant me patience."_
> 
> _"It's worse than you think. He has been dosing himself to heighten his mind and senses, and also to blunt his pain."_

"You are possibly worse than Joyeux," Anthony said, but he could not muster the humor to make it sound right. "I'll be improved in the morning. All I require is some sleep."

"If you entered a bed in this state, you would not leave it for days," Stephen snapped, "and that is assuming the infection you invited did not kill you first."

Anthony blanched. "No, oh no, I can't. Stane quit the field for the comfort of Heppouge, but he _will_ return when he learns that I have escaped him twice now. He is probably speeding on his way in a great, frustrated furor, and there is so much yet to be done before I face him."

"How do you expect to face him at all when you can barely keep your feet? Any sign of weakness will damage your position beyond repair."

"As if I would hobble out to meet him with every bruise on display! I am many things, most of them unbecoming, but never mistake me for an idiot."

The spark of Stephen's anger found nothing in which to take hold, and quickly burned itself out. In its place was an odd wistfulness when he said, "Why won't you ask me?"

Only Anthony's eyes betrayed that he'd heard. "My armor will hide my deficiency, and I'll go bolted to my saddle if I must."

"Most others in your place would beg for my aid -- or worse, demand it as their right. Yet you will not even look to me. Have I still not won your faith?"

"I don't grasp-"

"I'll have the truth."

The words were softly given, but Anthony still flinched as if struck. "I dare not rely on that which is outside my control," he said. "No, the whole truth is that I owe you so much already, and- I won't ask because you give everything in your power freely."

> _"Do you see now?"_
> 
> _"Yes, I do. He would rather abandon hope than have it met with disappointment."_

Anthony's eyes darted about the room. "She's here, isn't she?"

"Indeed, She answered my call, for what I intend to give lies within Her power, not mine. But the work itself takes much from me; before this night I would not have been strong enough to undertake it." Nudging Anthony toward the basin, he said, "Strip your bandages and finish washing," and began to do the same. He might be too weary to do it later.

The dressing had adhered to the worst of Anthony's hurts and had to be soaked free. Where he could, he watched the process in fascination, and suffered Stephen re-binding him with strips torn from a linen towel. "That hurt far less than it should. You have a kind touch. I should like-" The rest of the thought cut off with a sigh.

Stephen should be glad to be spared any remark Anthony would check. He knew this. Yet Anthony's mood was the farthest thing from lascivious, and his own curiosity, once stirred, would not rest. "Finish what you would say," he murmured.

"Fear not, I'm no danger to your virtue in this state. You could drop to your knees on the spot and attend me with your mouth, and I doubt you'd get a rise from me. It is all I can do to appreciate you with my eyes." He said it wearily, as if he felt he must meet some expectation, or pretend to be the shadow of his usual self.

For some reason it brought to mind the image of Anthony sitting on a roof with grass in his hair. Stephen blinked away the sight. "My virtue is a circumstance, and one which seems to concern you more than it ever has me." 

"Gods, you even mend in a superior fashion. I could believe your wounds were at least a fortnight old, instead of but three days."

"See me again in a fortnight and you won't believe I'd ever been injured." Stephen drew one of the nightshirts over his head. When he emerged, Anthony's distraction had shifted, for the hem settled on Stephen mid-thigh, barely enough to cover his braies. "Can you dress?"

"I- Yes."

Stephen tidied what he could of their mess, extinguished the lamps save the first, and led back to the bedroom with Anthony leaning on his arm.

"This _is_ some scheme of yours to lure me to bed." After a moment, Anthony caught his own words and gave a dry, tired laugh. "All of my days have been contrary since I've known you, but this one might be the worst." He sobered too quickly, and Stephen saw that he shivered despite the summer night's warmth.

Stephen propelled Anthony up and beneath the blanket. And there his plan faltered. Why must a lordly bed be built so high?

> _"Stephen. Kneeling will not improve your efficiency in this task. Put it aside for once."_
> 
> _"Yes, Mother."_

He put out the light and climbed in the other side of the bed, leaning back against the wall. "Come, put your head in my lap."

"That is the last time you may say that to me in total innocence," Anthony muttered as he obeyed. "It's lucky I thought to leave your shield with you."

Indeed, Anthony could have taken it for study and hadn't. It must have displaced a painting on the wall, for it hung in a rectangle of unfaded of paint. "I've told you, it has no part in this."

"Still." Anthony nestled in and went lax. "I feel that I could fall asleep here, just like this, and maybe never wake."

"Hush, I must concentrate." He took Anthony's face between his hands, frowning at the fever's heat he felt there. So recently after washing, Anthony's temples were already sweat-damp. "Disturb me not," he warned again, and Anthony barely risked a nod.

Stephen submerged himself. He found no single great hurt, but smaller ones in profusion. The most dangerous were those that festered, so he attended those first, unsure how long his strength would hold.

Infection was a different type of battle than the poison. It had sat too long in the flesh already; the best way to purge it was to drive it back to its source and contain it there. With nothing else to feed upon, he could force it to turn on itself and burn away clean.

Anthony whimpered and stiffened, his eyes screwed shut.

"Shh, that is but the start." He worked a fast as he might; when the pain creases on Anthony's brow grew too deep, he paused until they smoothed away beneath his thumbs. Weariness caught him even sooner than expected, and he saw that he wouldn't have the strength to repair the lesser hurts. But there were two he deemed necessary: Anthony's leg and the horrific bruising on his shoulder, for both impaired his movement considerably.

"It's almost done, and the worst is over, shh..."

Through it all, Anthony's spark held anxious yet steady at the edge of Stephen's awareness. There was no need to interfere with it, especially not after he was done with everything else. He only meant to look upon it once more, perhaps the final time he would. But it beckoned, so intricate and vital. He reached without thinking.

Anthony's eyes flew open. "Gods," he whispered. "Stephen, gods, what do you do to me?"

The harm was already done. Stephen cupped his hands around that vibrant thing, felt it soak up the comfort of his touch greedily. He only realized how badly he'd erred when he released it and it sought after him, greed turned to hunger. "Stop-" He snatched himself away and shoved Anthony out of his lap.

But Anthony was back a second later, crawling up Stephen to rain kisses on his face. "Please," he said, as if they weren't both long past permission, "please let me." His hands traced Stephen's throat, pressed the pulse beneath his jaw.

"Anthony." Stephen could barely squirm his own hands between them, let alone succeed in shifting Anthony again, who seemed as resolute as a mountain. "I'm sorry. What I did-"

"I would be so good to you," Anthony promised against Stephen's mouth.

"I know you would, I know." He was kissed again and couldn't speak until Anthony let him. "But not now. Please, I've exhausted myself; and you only react because I gave in and touched what I shouldn't."

Anthony rested his forehead on Stephen's. His strange laughter made him shake, but his urgency seemed to lessen. "Gods," he said again between gulped breaths, "I could feel myself trying to drag you back. What would have happened if I'd caught you?"

Stephen realized that he clutched the front of Anthony's shirt, but he lacked the effort to let go. "Perhaps nothing. I've so little strength left. If you'd managed to take enough that I collapsed... I think that would have separated us."

If Anthony eased up, it was only so that he might glare at Stephen from a less dizzying distance. "You _think?"_

"I am not usually prone to such errors. I beg your forgiveness."

Anthony stopped petting Stephen's hair to grip it and give a gentle tug. "You... what can I do with you?"

"You could take my apology."

"No, I don't believe I will."

Stephen hesitated. Protest he'd seen brewing, but an outright refusal? "Then you might get off of me. You presently weigh more than should be possible."

Anthony shifted as if he would, but instead drew closer. No matter how tentative, there was no mistaking his intent. Yet every heartbeat of his delay was less of a question than it was the... anticipation of rebuke.

Holding motionless, Stephen watched him come, saw him tilt his face at the last. This time, Anthony's lips made barely a whisper on his, but there was also a sense of incredible restraint that he knew he could sunder with a single word.

It never came.

When Anthony moved again it was to sit back on his heels. His mood retreated even further than he did, a display of levity. He felt himself over, testing his shoulder as if with surprise. "Forget your shield. It's you I should study."

"I only set the healing right as it should have been from the start. You'll still need more rest than usual," Stephen warned, "and it will be easy to overtax yourself without realizing, so have care." He'd barely begun to think of finding a place of his own to sleep when Anthony caught his arm and firmly pulled him down to recline.

"Oh no, I won't have you slink away."

"Anthony..." But the bed was soft and fine, and Stephen's tired body became insistent that he move not a single unnecessary step, so he settled and let the blanket be drawn over him.

"I'll do nothing untoward."

"That was... wasn't-" A huge yawn took him, during which Anthony curled close, his arm thrown over Stephen's chest as if it belonged nowhere else. Its weight grew more apparent as Anthony relaxed, until it seemed that Stephen was pinned beneath an iron band -- and even then it wasn't worth the effort of freeing himself.

Anthony had been imitating sleep for such long, still moments that his words came as a surprise. "Why do you give me so much, and suffer such risk on my behalf?"

"I fulfil my vows to my utmost."

"For that matter, why would you take up my cause?"

Stephen would always be honest, but weariness in addition made him facile. "Where I found myself... it seemed the right course."

Anthony seemed to approach some understanding. "Then it was circumstance, and I'm awarded no greater benefit than any other cause you've shouldered."

The sentiment made no sense at first; Stephen had to puzzle through it twice. "No. Or rather yes, though not..." There was a difference, but he could not begin to grasp whence or how it sprang -- or even if it should exist at all. He sighed, annoyance clear even to his ears. "Ask me in the morning. I'd throw you out of your own bed right now if it meant I might sleep."

That made his point. Anthony said nothing else, at least not that Stephen stayed awake to hear.

  
~~~~~  
  


There was no sign of Anthony when Stephen woke the next day. He couldn't decide whether this made him relieved or unhappy, for he wanted to verify his healing work in good light.

Someone who knew his preferences had left him clothes. They were simple and sturdy, if very well made. The wide-cuffed boots were obviously new and alone must have cost a fortune. Dressed, he went in search of life and hopefully breakfast, for he discovered that he was ravenous.

A corridor led him to more of Anthony's apartment, each room as sumptuous as the last. One seemed meant for dining, another for study. There were additional bedrooms -- he wished he'd known of their existence sooner -- and even a sort of personal armory that beckoned for closer inspection. But it was the library where he caught himself lingering, taking in the scent of ink and leather; he could not imagine himself in the chair by the fireplace until he included Anthony as well, pacing with his nose in a book.

> _She bent near the large illustrated tome that sat open on a stand. The pages fluttered and turned as if on a breeze._
> 
> _"Yes, it's tempting," Stephen admitted, for he knew what Her question would be before it was said._
> 
> _"That's a start at least." She took his hand. "Come, see the best part."_

He followed through more rooms to a covered balcony. It had a low stone parapet, and on top of that was a line of support columns, ten in all, for the balcony ran the whole width of the house. Below, an exquisite garden basked in the early sun, but it was the farther sight that made his breath catch.

Truly, a prince would envy the view, and count himself rich to own a tenth of what Stephen could see. It seemed the entire land was spread at his feet: valleys and low rolling hills, woods and fields, even the rooftops of far-distant towns. He was so high that the shade thrown by clouds could be seen as patches drifting across the landscape, and he could almost believe that the glint at the horizon was the sea.

"I should have known where I would find you."

The voice was light, and Stephen turned to see Virginia join him at the parapet. 

"I will never forget the first time Anthony brought me out here. He made me come blindfolded, of course." She touched his shoulder. "Turn here a moment."

When he obeyed he was studied at length, until he almost needed to fidget. "My lady?"

"He'll regret that he missed showing you himself. So now, when he asks -- and he will -- I can describe your reaction."

"Ah," was all Stephen could say to that. He knew that the scene was designed to elevate and inspire, where in the main he found it humbling.

Virginia let him escape her gaze. "Anthony is remarkably improved this morning. He told me a little of what you did for him, and I would thank you for it. Your Mother too, if you would convey my gratitude."

"You know Her?" There had been few who had even in his own time, for She had never been wont to amass followers.

"I don't, but I recognized the device on your shield. My mother's mother had it painted above her lintel, that it would protect all who entered her door."

> _"Do you recall a girl named Lora? You made quite an impression when you stayed with her family a few days, near Kechn."_

"Ah!" Stephen said. "That is... I will give Her your words." He could recognize a slight resemblance now, but it would be far too strange to tell this assured lady that he'd once let her grandmother crawl in his lap to hear his stories. Such a bold child, too. As much as he was curious to know what she'd made of her life, he almost preferred that she remain unchanged in his memory.

> _"Virginia is too clever not to make the link herself before long. She might even want to hear the stories again, for she grew up knowing them."_
> 
> _"I would oblige her, so long as we each have our own chair."_

Virginia fixed him with an odd look, but merely said, "Come, Gervays would have you fed before Anthony turns up again to claim you."

Stephen had feared he might be seated alone at some imposing table, but instead he was taken straight to the kitchens. They were immense, yet held none of the bustle he'd expected in a grand house.

Indeed, Gervays was the only one there, tending a small pot over an even smaller fire. "Good morning, sir. Virginia."

"Good morning. And please, I'd prefer you call me Stephen."

"I'll leave him in your hands," Virginia told Gervays on her way out.

"She goes to distract Anthony," Gervays explained, giving Stephen a bowl and showing him a stool to use. "It took both of us combined to keep him from waking you ere you were ready."

"I hope he did not rise too much before me?"

Gervays' frown was clear. "Milord's plans seldom account for the needs of the body, although he is worst to himself in that regard."

"Rhodes gave me a similar warning."

"Did he now?"

Stephen studied his bowl as he was inspected in turn. "I didn't mean to imply-" Invoking Rhodes' name in such a way was like claiming to have his support.

"His settling influence has been missed these past days. Joyeux's, too. But perhaps things will change now that your injuries are... improved?" It seemed the most he would say regarding Stephen's incredible recovery.

"I intend to do what I can."

"More porridge?"

"Please. It's excellent."

"Thank you. It's good to know I haven't lost my touch -- I came up through the kitchens. They were far noisier in the old Lord Stark's days." Gervays scraped the rest of the pot into Stephen's bowl before banking the fire. "Oh, I saw your surprise earlier. Anthony keeps a very modest household, and the few of us there are assume several duties at once."

"If you find yourself overworked, you might take it up with my majordomo," Anthony said, sweeping in the door. For some reason, he had Stephen's shield upon his back. "I understand the reduction in staff was his idea."

"Perhaps milord's majordomo _should_ hire a maid for the workshops, considering that is where milord concentrates his time and his mess," Gervays suggested to Anthony's obvious horror.

"I am threatened in my own house," Anthony grumbled. "And I expected better from you, Stephen. Yet I find you in full complicity, hiding behind a lady's skirts while you let your ear be filled with gossip."

 _Good morning to you as well._ Chewing his porridge, Stephen did not shirk from making a thorough appraisal of Anthony's condition. There was no hint of pain in his movements or hiding behind his eyes, which were very clear. He was dressed much the same as Stephen, though in richer cloth, black pricked with gold. It struck Stephen that he saw for the first time not Anthony, but Lord Stark of Mainhett in force; and it made him want reassurance that the familiarity between them still held. "Oh indeed, Gervays has told me all manner of deplorable stories concerning you."

"Then I am too late, and your regard for me must be ruined." Anthony strode close enough to take Stephen's hand. "Unless... you find my antics charming?" He bent over it and kissed it as he might a lady's, although the expression he kept fixed on Stephen was far from decent.

Stephen started when one of Antony's fingers crept beneath his cuff to the stroke the tender underside of his wrist. A tug determined that he would not free himself without exerting his strength, so he squirmed and hissed, "Stop that!"

"I'm not slapped. Normally I'd count that a positive sign."

"Anthony."

Anthony's voice fell for Stephen alone. "The matter of last night is not finished. To start, I've been remiss in giving my thanks, which I will correct as soon as I determine how to do it." He let go Stephen's hand when Gervays gave a little cough.

"A word would suffice. I don't need or want some display." Stephen refused to acknowledge what else had been intimated, for it seemed that the more he became entangled with Anthony, the more inscrutable his own mind and motives grew.

"I'm aware, or you would have had one already." Anthony stood aside, relinquishing the shield. "Come. Today will be... interesting, and I would begin by getting you out of these walls to show you my city."

  
~~~~~  
  


Anthony's first order of business waited in his workshop. There were more scenic ways he could have led to reach it, but the sound of distant cannons reminded him strongly of his priorities.

Stephen paused to cock his ear. "That's Stane's artillery."

"Regular as clockwork, and about as much use as hurling springs and cogwheels at my walls."

"Your guns don't answer," Stephen decided after a moment.

"Can you truly tell that by listening?"

"Yes."

Anthony pulled out his key from where it hung on a chain around his neck. "I should make it my goal to see a full day during which you fail to surprise me even once."

"You speak as if you fear that day could be a long time coming."

"Oh, it's worse than that," Anthony said. "I don't fear; I hope." He busied himself with the lock so that he would miss Stephen's reaction in the case it was unfavorable. "Careful what you touch within, though there's a lot of it more fragile than dangerous."

The roof panels were open, allowing light, for the workshop had but a ground floor and high walls without windows. Anthony's furnace sat cold and untouched as it had since he'd departed Mainhett weeks earlier. Though the debris of his last project was still in evidence there, all his recent work had been done in the portion of the building that was set aside for more delicate tasks.

Stephen was caught just inside the door, taking in his surroundings with a slow sweep. "Are those devices on the walls your lamps?" He put his shield on his back. 

"Yes." They were unlit, but he still pulled the lever to show how the globes could be sealed entirely to suffocate the flames within.

"How ingenious." Again, where those words from someone else might have been double-edged, Stephen was earnest. "And I've never seen such a forge. Why, I think you could shoe an entire team at once."

Anthony had to laugh in relief. "I could, and they would be the most expensive horseshoes known to man." More than the palazzo, he considered his workshop to be his sanctum, and he'd been wary of opening this part of himself to Stephen's scrutiny. All for naught, it seemed.

Curiosity pulled Stephen deeper, his hands conspicuous in the way they kept at his sides when it was clear they wanted to inspect everything. "I don't begin to understand the need for so many ovens."

"There is the one for smelting, there for casting, for cupellation, for hot-forging," Anthony pointed in turn. Their flues all converged in a single large chimney, and there was a complicated system of bellows that could be shifted among them as needed.

"Ah." Stephen gave in at last to touch the great anvil, his expression thoughtful. "I would like to watch you work some day, if that is a reasonable request."

"More than reasonable -- I would enjoy it. But be warned, I might press you to do more than watch." Anthony could imagine many benefits to having Stephen's raw strength at his disposal, even for an afternoon. "In fact, I would ask a favor now, if you think you could shift that hunk of iron. "

Stephen studied it closer, found handholds, and heaved. Anvil and base came clear off the ground before he set them carefully back down. "It seems I can."

"You realize the anvil alone is near three hundredweight. I only meant for you to push it, not break your back."

"Where should it go?" Stephen asked, as if he might sling it under his arm and carry it wherever Anthony wished.

Anthony crouched with a piece of charcoal to draw a line on the floor, no more than two hands north of the base's present position. "There, that should be enough to get me out from under that annoying afternoon shadow. I suppose I could have taken my foundry crucible off its hook and used those pulleys to do it myself." He looked up to where that massive charred pot hung above their heads on chains. "But there was always a more interesting use for my time, and so I never bothered."

Stephen braced his feet wide and shifted the anvil into its new place. "If you'd enlisted the aid of a few others, it could have been moved in minutes," he said, rubbing his hands when he was done.

"I don't employ assistants for the same reason that I won't open my workshop doors to just anyone." Fewer people had been here than in his bed, though he doubted Stephen wished to know that. "You of course are welcome. Rhodes, Gervays and Joyeux... Virginia holds the only other key."

"All those you would trust not to steal your secrets."

"Yes, although there is more to it," Anthony surprised himself by saying. Even as he reached for an explanation, he wondered what must show on his own face to prompt such a gently curious look in return. "You might have noticed, this building is incongruous with most everything else in the city."

"It's your design," Stephen guessed. "I thought I could see your hand in it."

"You did?"

"The lack of decoration... it seemed that whoever made it would let the stone speak for itself. In that way I'm reminded of your armor."

Anthony returned a pair of tongs to their right place, then neatened the rest of the rack just to have something to do. "The truth is less generous. Frills would have extended the construction time. Also, I was young and spiteful, and part of me enjoyed erecting an eyesore right outside my father's window, where he couldn't have escaped seeing it every day had he still been alive."

Stephen frowned. "It's not an eyesore."

"He would have called it that."

"Then he would be wrong."

"You'd impugn the dead?"

"That's my honest opinion."

"You employ your opinion much like your shield," Anthony said. "One moment I'm defended by it, the next it might smack me down."

Stephen's boots became worthy of his examination. "I don't-"

Anthony had to laugh. "Oh, you do. But seldom when I don't need or deserve it, so please don't stop. On both counts. You may be years too late to truly stand with me against my father-" He noticed his voice growing soft along with his falling mood. Bolstering them, he finished in a rush, "I still appreciate your conviction, more than you know."

Stephen hovered close, as though he would give Anthony more than that -- if he could only determine how or to what end.

"Come, I'll show you the real reason we're here." He led to the opposite end of the hall, where he drew his plans and mixed his compounds -- and where he'd once distilled countless tinctures in search of the elusive one that might cure him. All that toil seemed so distant now, a lifetime apart.

Here were shelves upon shelves of utensils and bottles. Most were unlabeled, but if Stephen could have read those that were, he would have found aqua regia, oil of vitriol, arsenic and sal ammoniac among others. Anthony would have been glad to expound on the properties of any one of them, yet Stephen's attention was all for the pallet of blankets that was tucked into the corner, forgotten until this moment.

" _This_ is where you slept while I had your bed?"

Damn his quick perception. "I did not sleep, I napped when the need took me. Oh, don't give me that look. Far from a hardship, it's a habit of mine when I'm immersed in some great project."

"And that is supposed to reassure me?" Stephen asked.

Anthony hastened to the shrouded shape that was his target. He uncovered it with a flourish. "Forget that. Instead, see what I have for you."

The diversion succeeded, Stephen brightening in an instant. "My armor?" There was wonder in his voice as he made his reunion, examining it in detail where it stood on its stand. "I thought it was ruined. How...?"

"It pains me that I couldn't do the work myself. There wasn't the time. But fear not, I entrusted it to my old teacher Ianson, whose skill and experience together outweigh my own. You won't be disappointed with the result."

"I'm not," Stephen said, his eyes shining. "It seems to me better than new. I- Thank you."

Anthony shrugged. "I couldn't have my new Captain of the Guard turned out in motley equipment."

Stephen froze.

"The appointment has been made." He was glad now he'd gone ahead with that step. "It's too late to decline it."

"And it didn't occur to you to ask my stance on the matter beforehand?"

"There was no time," Anthony repeated. "Yes, that's a poor excuse, but I was -- I still am \-- confident I can convince you." The thought of being officially bound to Mainhett and her lord might contribute to Stephen's hesitance. "I'll make the commission temporary if I must. But you're the best I have, especially where it comes to battle-knowledge. I would trust my city's defense to none other."

"How can I defend what I don't know?"

"Simple. You'll learn, and you'll come to me with your questions. You could have no better resource at your disposal."

Stephen would look anywhere except at Anthony. "My knowledge is near a century out-of-date. What if I make some crucial mistake through that flaw?"

"You won't," Anthony promised.

"You can't know that."

"Be glad I don't have an army, or you'd be my general."

He might have paled at that -- the healthy color of his cheeks made it difficult to be certain. "And what of your previous captain?"

"I've, er, promoted him to a position where his aptitude for organizing rosters and keeping a meticulous guard hall should be appreciated for a change." The increased salary also hadn't hurt. "I doubt he'll want his old place back. So you see, if you won't take it..."

Stephen lifted his helm off the stand and held it between his hands as if he might stare into where his own face should be. "Then I will have to do my best and hope I am worthy of your inordinate confidence."

"So you accept?"

"You don't leave me much choice."

"No," Anthony grinned, "I don't. Congratulations, my captain."

Stephen finally met Anthony's eye. "I suppose I am to be called that now. Only please, not in private."

"But captain, in case you haven't noticed, there is a siege on."

"I have noticed," Stephen said dryly.

"You should permit me my small amusements, since I am forced to forego the banquet I would have held in your honor."

"The _what?_ "

The more Anthony thought about it, the more he was saddened to miss the opportunity, if for Stephen's reaction alone. "It would have been splendid, such food and drink as you wouldn't imagine. We would have been feeling our cups for days! And of course you would have sat beside me, attired in finery. You would have owned the admiration of most every woman present, and no few of the men."

Stephen's expression drew nearer to horror the longer Anthony went on. "I wouldn't-"

" _Believe me_ , you would. In fact, I grow jealous just to contemplate the offers you'd have garnered." As much as he teased, that was no lie.

"No, I meant that I wouldn't feel my drink. But the rest, too. I- Mother, please don't let me be threatened with such things again!"

Anthony made a show of stroking his beard. "Perhaps you're right. An intimate meal would allow the same pleasures with none of the inconveniences. Wait. I've seen you take wine, so I know that you-" He groaned.

Stephen found a weak smile. "If it's any consolation, it doesn't affect me for ill _or_ good."

"What's that? Did I just hear you beg me to put this newfound superiority of yours to the test?"

"You did not!"

"That's twice now."

"Anthony."

"Three times! As my captain insists most strenuously, I have no choice but to oblige him at his earliest convenience."

Stephen opened his mouth to protest again, but snapped it shut once he realized the futility. A rueful shake of his head conceded victory to Anthony.

  
~~~~~  
  


Anthony's armor, cleaned and polished to magnificence, likewise waited in the workshop. It struck Stephen as an odd place to do it, but they helped each other to dress. Anthony demanded to be done first, which Stephen took as impatience until he saw how his own fingers stumbled over work that would have been twice as tricky had he already been in his own plate.

"Trouble?" Anthony twisted around in an attempt to watch Stephen's progress.

"It's these bizarre fastenings," Stephen said. He grabbed Anthony's hip to hold him still, and proceeded to lose one half of the troublesome pair he tried to join. "Damn."

> _"Oh yes," She laughed, bending close. "It must be the buckles, and not the distraction of what else you have beneath your hands."_
> 
> _"Thank you, that reminder is sure to improve matters."_

"I didn't-" Anthony began. "Ah."

> _"Here Stephen, hold that side for me."_
> 
> _"I can manage it."_

"I fear Joyeux has you beat in this task, if only through long expe- _erience!_ " Anthony twitched as if stung when She touched him; his elbow nearly clipped Stephen in the head. "What in the nine hells goes on down there?"

"Don't move," Stephen chided.

> _At her bidding, the pieces gave in and latched at once. "It's not so different from threading a needle."_
> 
> _"Thank you," he repeated, sincere this time._
> 
> _"I had an advantage." She held her palm to his to show him how much more delicate Her fingers were._

"Stephen?"

"Nothing -- pay me no mind. This part is finished."

"My new captain fights without a weapon, and makes a habit of speaking to empty air -- those points will make a fine addition to the rumors about you that already circulate."

By merit of his position, his behavior _would_ reflect on Anthony. Why hadn't Stephen realized that sooner? "My apologies. I will temper myself while I remain in your service."

"Don't you dare."

"In your service, not your presence. Given privacy I would change nothing," Stephen said slowly, for he'd grown accustomed to the familiarity between them. More, the thought of putting it aside hit him almost like an ache. "But I confess that you're only the second benefactor I've had, and the first... noble one." Mortal, too. "Should my demeanor need adjustment-"

Anthony turned to clasp Stephen's shoulders. He bent his head briefly, and when it raised again he wore a wry smile. "You misunderstand. I forbid you to be any less incredible than your usual self. In fact, there are wild stories I would put direct in the ears of Stane's spies if I knew how to do it."

"You think Stane has spies inside your walls?"

"He'd be a fool not to. After all, I have them in his." He released Stephen to pull on his greaves. "Advise me, captain. There is no spot in the city safer from being overheard. How do you see the siege progressing?"

"It will depend on a number of things. What are your stores like?"

"You've witnessed Virginia with her ledgers. She'll have an accurate figure for you once she's done taking full stock. But to guess, if Mainhett tightens her belt, she should last a year on surplus I keep against trouble."

"An army also needs supplies, but Stane has the advantage of access to his port. We'd starve long before he would." A happier thought occurred. "What chance that Rhodes could bring enough ships to harass Stane in his own harbor?"

"Little to none," Anthony said at once. He must have posed the question to himself already. "If he does bring aid, again I surmise it will be a handful of ships, arrayed for transport, and whatever men they're able to hold."

It had always been too much to hope that Rhodes would bring a force large enough to break the siege outright. Yet he could still prove a considerable nuisance to the attackers if he harried them from the cover of the woods.

Anthony said, "I'd hoped to have word of him by now. It may be that he's delayed, or the problem may be getting a message through. Any pigeons left that could make the trip home to Mainhett are surely in the spymaster's hands, and she is not always the easiest to locate."

Stephen pondered a long moment. "My advice is thus: Stane's actions will perforce set the tempo of the engagement. You will be reacting to his decisions, which is the weaker role to play. However, your position is stronger, for it is always more effort to take than it is to hold something you already own."

Anthony nodded as if he'd known this already, but appreciated to have it confirmed. "Go on."

"You're so sure there's more."

"Because my captain still frowns with thought."

"Fine, you're right." He'd wanted to assess the foe again before saying this part, in case the situation had met with change. "Stane must choose between force and attrition. Force would be quick, to avoid a winter encampment. Attrition-"

"A year ago I would have sworn that Stane would refuse a route that meant damaging himself and his enemy in equal measure -- for where you see a company of spears, he sees the money bleeding out of his coffers to feed them. But his Bishop was right, he is estranged from his usual prudence." Anthony stood to stomp his feet and reached for his gauntlets. "I prefer him that way, so today I launch a campaign of confusion and distraction to... encourage the trend."

"Starting with my appointment."

"Indeed. Your enigma is a weapon unto itself, and there is no possibility that Stane could grant you the esteem you deserve as an adversary. I would dearly enjoy seeing the expression on his face when he realizes his mistake."

"It would please me if he met that moment on his back, with my shield at his throat."

Anthony's eyes shone with an almost savage delight. "Oh, _yes._ Yes, such satisfaction that would give me." He held the thought perhaps a heartbeat too long before shaking it off and recalling his focus. "Come, it's your turn."

Stephen's armor was accomplished with minimal fuss, and Anthony bade him test the fit before they quit the workshop and moved to the stables. There, two horses waited caparisoned and ready.

Anthony's mare was darkest bay without a single white hair on her. She greeted him with her ears pinned and her teeth snapping on air an inch away from his pauldron. "What do you think?" he asked, laughing when she squealed in frustration and tried it again.

The structure was all cool stone and brick. Its wide center aisle was meticulously swept, and the straw in the few occupied stalls was fresh and deep. "I could sleep comfortably here," Stephen decided, hiding a smile.

"Well, now I know how far you'd go to escape sharing my bed again. But the horse?"

"She seems... spirited." A temperament to match her rider, he didn't say.

"Raina hates my armor," Anthony said. "It only took her one bite to learn it wasn't to her taste. However, I meant the gray and you know it."

That charger stood at least eighteen hands, with stout feathered legs and a massive neck. Stephen, gathering the reins, was gravely appraised in turn. "He has a soft eye. I think we could agree."

Getting one foot in the stirrup, Anthony cursed and hopped after his dancing mare to finally swing himself astride. "Good, because he's yours."

"Anthony, I can't accept." The mended armor he would take as a necessity, the commission as a duty, but this was pure extravagance. He couldn't imagine what such a beast was worth.

"You can't refuse, either," Anthony called as he was borne outside, not entirely by his will. "Not unless you want to tell Virginia what was wrong with her choice. She picked him for you."

> _"Mother," Stephen muttered as he mounted, "why do I feel that it would be jewels if I were a lady?"_
> 
> _"You think it matters to him either way? He would see you decked in gold and sapphires if he thought you would permit him." She added a whisper in his ear, "Gold, sapphires, and nothing else."_

"Stephen, are you coming? Do you need assistance?"

"No!" Stephen choked. "Or yes. That is-" He made a show of adjusting his stirrups to let the heat fade from his face. "I'm fine. Ready -- I'm ready."

If Anthony noticed, there was no comment. Instead, he ran his eyes over Stephen and the gray with frank appreciation. "It is as if you stepped straight from a legend and into my plaza."

"Please don't."

"Oh, but it's the precise effect I desired. Here, ride at my side and do as I do."

"I thought I was to see your city?"

"You are. But more important, she is to see you."

  
~~~~~  
  


As their procession wound through Mainhett's wards, Anthony explained the purport of each: here were the carpenters, there the weavers, the potters, the bakers, the smiths. Stephen paid him but half-mind, learning his way foremost, but also trying to see everything with a defender's insight. Open fighting inside the walls would be the final stage only if disaster came to pass, but he was more comfortable knowing which streets might be barricaded and held, and which could be sacrificed without gain to a foe.

All the while, Stephen had to contend with what seemed to be the crawl of a thousand eyes on him at once. Where Anthony nodded and waved -- and sometimes went in his purse to scatter coins for crowding children -- Stephen stayed straight as a rod, his shield ready to fly in an instant. He found potential assassins peering from every window, lurking beneath every deep hat brim, behind every column in the central plaza's vast arcade.

It was enough to make him long for a simple battlefield, with the certainty of friends beside him and enemies charging straight at him.

Anthony pointed out the basilica abutting one side of the plaza. "Do you know what was the first thing I made after my foundries quit the business of war? Church bells. As it happens, they're cast much like a cannon, only in a different shape."

"I know you have some guards," Stephen said, "else I'd be the captain of naught. Meeting this throng, you should have a squad of them with you in case of trouble."

At Anthony's command, his mare sidled closer. He said, "I don't need guards. I have Sir Ironspine to watch over me."

Stephen's frown wasn't for the nickname. "And before you had me, what did you do? Ride out alone?"

"You begin to sound like Virginia. Oh, those early years after my father died -- and I threw Stane off \-- they were lean indeed. I don't know how, but she kept me from seeing the bottom of my coffers. Retaining her was the first wise decision I ever made."

"I'm not distracted enough to forget that my question goes unanswered."

"Damn. Shall I try discussing this plaza? It is indisputably Mainhett's prime locus, surrounded by her most important buildings and her finest houses -- all save one." Anthony's voice turned dark. "My father, the very architect, would dwell nowhere else but with his back to his walls."

Stephen admitted, "I had wondered why they seemed to grow straight up from your garden."

"There is only an alley to separate them." Anthony turned his mare's head and picked up a trot. The horses' shoes rang on the paving stones. "Come, it's about time to end our tour; and our real business begins at the walls, so you should have their wretched tale."

Their pace slowed once they were down a quieter street, and Stephen listened as Anthony told of his father Howard's downfall. He recited it dryly, as if it was a history apart from his own, yet Stephen saw how his hands grew hard on the reins, and his mare tensed with her master's mood.

"Much of this I had to piece together, for it was a subject never spoken of in my father's house. He wed late, and my mother bore me, her only child, even later. By that time, the walls had stood unfinished for more than a decade, and remained in that state until I completed them myself, years after his death.

"It was his most ambitious project, and one that must have seemed necessary as Mainhett's sister-cities were swamped in politics and strife. But he never counted on Stane's methods, else he wouldn't have spent money that was earned but not yet in his purse. Several large commissions vanished overnight -- he was among many other things an architect in high demand. He might have recovered from that loss, but it was the first in a series of small disasters to beset the Stark name -- a ship gone missing, a quarry accident, a warehouse fire -- all converging like a flood.

"When my father was up to his neck, that was when Stane came to collect every outstanding debt of my father's that he'd been able to acquire. Rather than face ruin, my father accepted Stane's terms. Work on the walls ceased, and Mainhett's industry took up Stane's bidding. The rest of the story you know."

Stephen had listened to it all with a hollow feeling in his chest. He expected anger to rush in, for surely Stane had helped create the very misfortune he'd turned to his advantage.

Instead, Stephen found himself filled with new respect for Anthony. Well, respect was a part of it. Understanding? Recognition? On its heels came a redoubled determination -- unconnected to any vow -- to see him and his city through the siege intact. "There is one part I don't know. How did you, ah..."

"Succeed where my father failed? First, I was young and rash, and desperate not to live out my life in the shadow of his mistakes." Anthony's voice brightened, though the effort behind it was obvious. "I have enough trouble with my own, which are more frequent and diverse. And second, I discovered how to make iron into gold."

Stephen glanced around, suddenly fearful that their conversation might be overheard. But the nearer they'd drawn to the walls, the emptier the streets had become. This last was but an alley between warehouses that were painted in Anthony's colors. "Truly, you can do that?"

Anthony rapped on his cuirass. "Make, not transmute. Though it's a very fine difference when you consider that the small pieces I'm willing to part with fetch more than their weight in gold bullion. I once sold a sword that fed my household for a year."

"But no one else on this earth wears armor the equal to yours," Stephen guessed.

"No. Although I doubt I could match your shield, even if I had years to study it."

Stephen raised it above his head, letting Anthony see the sunlight strike off its face. "It is my Mother's work."

"The legends say it was crafted from a star that fell from the heavens."

"Then there is some truth in the legends after all."

"Did she forge it in the sun and quench it in the moon, too?"

"I would ask Her for you."

Anthony laughed, as if at himself. "Perhaps later, when I can afford to let my mind dwell on how I might duplicate such feats."

  
~~~~~  
  


They left their horses at the guard hall. Anthony considered calling up a formation so that Stephen could have a grand debut, but he found he preferred the hectic and palpable curiosity that hung over them both -- though Anthony to the lesser extent, despite that his bizarre preparations of the last two days must have been ripe for speculation. But those who recognized their new captain pointed him out to those who didn't, and Anthony heard the whispers: There's the knight who cut a swath through an army, taking hurts that should have killed a man twice over. Yet look at him now, standing tall and strong as if he'd never been scratched!

If Stephen heard them too, he gave no comment. He followed Anthony up to the battlements, where he immediately pushed to the fore. Anthony guessed he did it part to make a fresh study of the enemy ranks spread out before him, and part to come between Anthony and the shots that were sure to fly their way as soon as they were noticed.

It wasn't long with Anthony's armor shining on display.

"What is our purpose up here? I could have spied on Stane's army without making myself its target."

"My armor can't be pierced at this distance," Anthony assured, even as he watched Stephen swat away missiles like they were flies. "To me this is no worse than a light rain. You're the one should have care, going without a visor."

"And what if they throw something larger at us?"

"My captain will shout at me to duck and I will obey, just as he trained me to do." He nodded to the field. "What is your assessment?"

It seemed Stephen _could_ read the field in a single glance. "Their numbers have swelled near half again since my last count. Stane has enough now that he might have a chance of gaining purchase if he made a rush at the walls -- although it would cost him so dearly that failure could end in his rout. I pray it doesn't come to that. His common soldiers no more deserve to die for following orders than yours do."

Still, Stane might try it, for he could send his mercenaries in first and not care how many he lost. Unless his mercenary captains refused the order, that was. "I know your stance on bloodshed; my plan is to avoid it if I can."

"Is that why your cannons are silent?"

"Not the whole reason. See that pavilion?"

"How could I miss it?"

"It was erected yesterday, and Stane's carriage was seen outside it this morning." Anthony's audience had arrived.

Stephen raised his shield for cover while he turned back to look at Anthony. "Things could not have changed so much while I slept that it's now common to treat war as a pleasure excursion."

"Oh, it isn't. How I wish he'd put that gaudy tent closer, that I could knock it down on top of him. My cannons are quiet because I've taken most of their powder for a different use, and because I don't wish Stane to know their true range. They're my own design and manufacture, and they'll reach _with accuracy_ eight hundred yards beyond what should be possible." Yet Stane hid himself another thousand yards beyond that, rightfully fearful of Anthony's ingenuity.

"That other purpose sounds ominous, but if you would man your closest ones you could curtail the shots that come our way and make those brazen foes give ground." Even as Stephen said it, the first of Stane's cannons opened with a belch like thunder. Seconds later the ball embedded in the wall no more than twenty yards from where they stood. It would have done great damage to the older style of curtain, but Anthony's were made sloped and thick, and were filled with quarry rubble to survive a prolonged pounding.

"Your eyes can see that far. Has Stane come out yet to learn what the fuss is about?"

"Figures spill from the pavillion, but I can't say if any are him." Stephen drew back when the next ball flew over their heads. "Down, we must get down. Either their luck or their aim improves."

"Not yet. There is something I would show you first." Anthony went to the stairs and motioned up the waiting sergeant. He thought he recognized the man, fresh promoted, who'd had the sharp eyes to find Anthony's abandoned sword before the gates and return it to him.

"My lord," the guard saluted, "all is ready."

Anthony turned to Stephen. "Captain, I wish to know your men's progress."

Stephen understood what Anthony did at once, and although he would give the appearance of playing his part, his eyes said that he'd only deferred his disapproval so that Anthony might have it later, in private. "Sergeant."

The man hurried to salute Stephen instead. "Yes, captain."

"What is your progress?"

"All is ready, captain."

Another crack came from the cannons, and Stephen moved so quickly it seemed he'd been listening intent for that very signal. He put his shoulder behind his shield and brought his weight low, bracing just as the ball skipped off a merlon in a spray of stone chips.

There wasn't even time to gather a shout. The impact made a noise like a dozen hammers striking anvils in unison, and the force of it drove Stephen back into Anthony. He was _shoved,_ not flung, his hobnails leaving scores in the stones as evidence that he'd kept his feet the whole time.

"Are you all right?" Stephen was breathless as he and Anthony pulled themselves apart.

"Forget me, you're the one just took a cannonball! Are _you_ all right?"

The guard had tossed his arms in front of his head. He came out slowly now, eyes opening at the last as if he expected to see Stephen on the ground in pieces. His jaw dropped when he spied there instead the ball, dented on one side and still smoking from the heat of its launch.

"I'm unharmed, aside from the bruises I'll have."

Below them, the shots had halted in confusion. The sergeant wasn't the only one who'd witnessed the feat.

Stephen said, "My men stand ready, Lord Stark."

"Err... good. It's time the torch was brought up."

"Bring up the torch."

"Yes, c-captain." The guard scurried for the stairs.

"Gods," Anthony swore when he was gone, "that's a solid six-pounder such as a saker would throw. I can't believe you stopped it. I can't believe you were insane enough to try!" Tardy excitement grabbed him, making him almost giddy, and he couldn't help a laugh. "Forget daily surprises, this astonishment will last out the week."

Stephen re-settled his grip on the shield. "It seemed the best course. With the ball glancing off stone, I couldn't be sure where it would hit, or which direction I could drag you to escape it."

"Fine, you're forgiven the reason, but I still hold you as too careless with yourself."

"So are you, to stand up here. The only difference is that you trust your armor and I my Mother's aegis. Any other shield and I'd be down an arm and worse." Stephen briefly showed its unblemished face. "Now move with me," he ordered. "The least we can do is force them to find their aim again."

"Yes, captain." Anthony grabbed up the ball before moving with Stephen down the curtain. The damned thing wasn't just dented, but in addition bore the faint imprint of one leg of a star, for Stephen had caught it near dead-center. He'd be tempted to make a gesture of hurling it back to Stane's men -- telling them to return it to their master as Anthony didn't want it -- but it was too fine a trophy to lose. 

The sergeant came up the far steps to meet them, carrying a massive lit torch. "Captain." He gave it to Stephen, who looked it over before passing it to Anthony.

"Have him stay," Anthony said. "He's about to witness the end of Stane's artillery."

"Stay."

"Yes, captain."

More guards took to the surrounding curtains, curiosity overruling the fear of stray shots. Anthony wondered if they craned their heads to see the man who'd stopped a cannonball, or if they desired to see the end to his own secretive preparations. Probably both. He looked behind him to be certain he remained in sight of the guard hall.

"My lord," Stephen said slowly, "what do you mean, the end of Stane's artillery?"

"Do you recall how I promised to make the sky rain fire? Well, I decided to make the earth spew it up instead. Watch." Anthony strode to the edge of the wall, raised the torch, and waved it above his head -- three full passes was the signal. Behind him, it was picked up by the guard hall, its alarm bell clamoring to life. He began to count.

Stane's men poured back and began forming up ranks, for they rightly read that they would soon be under attack.

"What do I watch for?"

"Twenty-eight. Is Stane out of his pavillion?"

"The whole army is turned out, my lord. I think you have every single eye upon you."

"Good. Forty-one, forty-two... help me count."

Stephen said, "Forty-three, forty-four."

Part show, part charade, Anthony kept the torch raised high while other bells in the city joined without knowing the reason. "This all began with my intent to close up the tunnel before Stane's men could discover it and use it to creep beneath my walls. But as I pondered how to do it, I finally understood the reason my father had designed it as he had." It ran as a single trunk without branches, yet it meandered this way and that as though the architect had repeatedly got lost.

Anthony's father had never made anything so ill. No, the devious path served a purpose, for there were few level areas before the city suitable to amass artillery, and it ran beneath them all.

"One hundred and fifty. You can't mean what I think you do."

"Tell me when you reach six hundred." A line of powder burned quick, but the one laid for him by the gunners guild had a great distance to travel. He hoped the man he'd installed at the start had lit it at the first stroke of the bell, and that Stephen's count was accurate. The result would be devastating no matter what, but it would be terrifying besides if it appeared to be called up at Anthony's command.

"Three hundred," Stephen said after a while.

Anthony nodded to show he'd heard. His heartbeat thickened in his throat.

"Four hundred."

The wait was an agony, but Anthony outward refused to be anything but inscrutable. Below him, the army had succumbed to quiet for all that it swarmed with frantic purpose, as if it strained as a whole to hear the sound of Anthony's gates being flung open.

"Five."

Anthony rejoined the count. _Five hundred and twenty._ _Five hundred and forty._ A trickle of sweat ran off his brow, making his eye sting. He blinked it away. _Five hundred and seventy._

"Six hundred," Stephen said.

Anthony stretched back and hurled the torch. It arched up, spinning end over end, and landed clear on the far side of the trench beneath the wall. The flame licked at the tinder it could find in the dust.

It seemed every person watching had frozen in place.

"Damn, was that too-" Anthony's last word was engulfed by the explosion -- as were the peals of the bells, the cries of his guards, the screams of Stane's men and horses.

Thirty barrels of powder going at once did not merely collapse the tunnel and swallow the artillery. It spat up the entire battery as if from the mouth of the mightiest cannon imaginable, tons of bronze and iron blown higher than his walls. The whole hellish welter then reversed and rained back down: fire and metal, stone and earth, huge splinters from the gun carriages and the bloody shreds that remained of the gunners.

Stephen and Anthony, gripping each other, were among the few who remained standing, and that was in part due to Stephen's strength. The shock of the blast couldn't crack his walls, but by hells it had tried, and probably done worse than rattle Mainhett's roof tiles. Behind him, the city erupted in chaos, while atop the curtains Anthony's guards began to scrape themselves up from where they'd dropped or fallen; a many-throated cheer lifted at the sight of Stane's army scattering in panic.

 _"Sweet Mother,"_ Stephen said, forgetting to let go Anthony. His gaze stayed locked to the field.

Anthony was almost too shaken to get his visor raised. He could begin to make out through the smoke and flaming debris the maw of a massive crater. "That... slightly exceeded my expectations."

  
~~~~~  
  


There was no bite for Anthony this time, his mare too glad to see him. Her flat ears and rolling eyes were instead for the general upset that lingered about the city, and probably would for some time.

Anthony patted her shoulder. "I fear I've much business to attend. You're welcome to accompany me, though I warn it will be tedious."

"My men could use regrouping in the aftermath of that... scene." Stephen had already heard some speaking as if the siege was as good as ended; and while Stane had been dealt a significant blow, to call him defeated was both premature and foolhardy. "I would stay behind, unless my lord needs me along?"

"My captain's presence would make the chores more enjoyable, but I don't require you, no." Anthony thought a moment, then untied his purse and made to give it to Stephen. "There's a lot here. Promise me you won't spend it all on the first beggar you meet."

"I don't need coin."

Anthony held out the purse, more command than offer, until Stephen finally took it. "Consider it the first portion of your salary."

"I don't need-"

"Any door in Mainhett that would open for me should do likewise for you, but in the case you're not universally recognized yet..." He used his knife point to pry a medallion from his mare's trappings, and gave that to Stephen as well. "Show my crest if there's any doubt."

"Thank you." Stephen held the mare's head while Anthony mounted, and kept the reins to walk her outside.

"I think I have it from here." When Anthony nudged the mare she could only pivot on her forehand. "Stephen? You can let go."

"You there."

A guard hurried over. "Yes, captain?"

"Tell the master sergeant that I want an escort formed up -- and tell him to do it quickly, for every second of delay is one subtracted from Lord Stark's patience."

"Yes, captain!" The poor man nearly fled.

Anthony dropped the reins entirely and crossed his hands over his pommel. "I was afraid this might happen."

"It's me or them, Anthony. In these tense times, I won't have you going alone."

"The problem with giving you authority is that you're not hesitant to turn around and use it on me. Or rather..." His mouth curved roguishly. "You don't hesitate to apply your firm hand _except_ in that sanctum where we'd both be free to relish it."

Stephen refused to answer, though he guessed that Anthony's intent hadn't been to provoke one, but merely to put the thought into Stephen's head. _Curse him, it's vivid, too._

The escort arrived in short time, and Stephen saw Anthony off before heading inside the hall in search of a familiar face. He found it in a knot of others that broke apart in embarrassment at his approach. It was easy to guess what they'd been discussing.

"Sergeant, with me."

"Yes, captain."

Stephen led back out to the training yard, where they might have quiet if not protection from curious stares. "What's your name?"

"Tomas, sir."

"How long have you been with the guards?"

"Three years, sir." He seemed about twenty, rawboned and still growing into his beard. "But I was near raised in the hall. My father and uncle served before me."

Stephen pretended to inspect a battered target dummy. "Good, you'll do. I'm going to question you on all manner of things: what drilling you practice, how the rosters and watches are arranged, your old captain's habits and methods of discipline, and the like. If an answer comes to your mind I want you to say it. Don't think first what would please or displease me."

"Captain, shouldn't the master sergeant-"

"I'll hear his testimony after I've heard yours, and where the two fail to agree, I _will_ know which is more faithful." And he would, although not by some extra sense as he might have implied. "Now, before we begin, is there anything you would ask of me?"

Tomas wet his lips and glanced around. He murmured, "Sir, I've heard it said that you're a hundred years old, and that you fought in the campaigns against Heidrax."

The legends couldn't be so well known, and if that empire was as little remembered as Anthony said, then the rumor could only have sprung from him or his house. "You heard the truth," he said, hand straying to his shield. "Anything else?"

Tomas shook his head quickly, but saved himself at the last from retreating an uneasy step.

Stephen spent the next hours hearing Tomas' halting answers, and in addition sometimes receiving demonstrations or sketches drawn in the sand. His audience with the master sergeant was longer and less productive. As he'd feared, he took away from it the sense that the unctuous man had held the old captain's leash, and meant to do the same with Stephen. Where it hadn't been bald flattery, it had been assurances that Stephen wouldn't need to concern himself with dull minutiae, and after several offers Stephen had finally forbidden any inspections to be called. Let that come when the whole hall wasn't prepared and expecting it.

There was so much that he would correct about the way the guards were conducted, and not enough time to begin to do it.

> _"My approach is faulty here, isn't it?" He could speak freely, having mounted the walls again to learn how the army had reordered itself._
> 
> _She stood beside him, looking as he did at the blackened pit that now split Stane's ranks in twain, for none of his men would go near it. "How so?"_
> 
> _"I itch to throw out the master sergeant and find a better one, but I don't dare. Much as it pains me, I'll have to rely on him. The command line is disrupted enough already, and with Anthony to distract me I won't be able to give my duties the absolute attention that they should have." A unit that functioned beneath a familiar, if unsatisfactory, hand was better than one thrown into turmoil by large changes._
> 
> _"My favorite, I see what your main trouble is, and it's not what you paint it."_

The thought _had_ crept in of what would happen when this was all finished. There was no point in shaping the guards to his liking when he was only going to quit them in the end, and have some new captain likely unravel all his work. For that matter, any ties he made to Mainhett -- or she to him -- would perforce be severed when he put his shield on his back and resumed his wandering.

If the siege ended well -- and the crater made a strong argument it would -- that day would come. Whether it would be a month or a year from now made no difference to the regret that stirred against his permission.

The wind changed, sweeping up from the field to the walls as if it made its own assault, and Stephen caught the scent of death upon it. He consoled himself that it would be a relief to turn away from armies and battles, and men who could invent such destruction as if by effortless second nature.

> _"How many died down there today?"_
> 
> _"Knowing the exact number won't change the burden on your conscience." She laid Her hand on Stephen's arm, adding, "Or his."_

The purse proved useful in the end. Stephen took his charger from the hall with the intent to return to Anthony's house, but he found himself tarrying down side streets, each turn taking him farther away from the finer buildings until at last he discovered a ward Anthony hadn't shown him. Here, faces were thin and clothes threadbare, but even the meaner houses seemed sturdy enough. The street itself was free of refuse; and to judge by its frequent lantern brackets it would be well-lit come the approaching night.

The conditions were better than Stephen had expected. But then, the poorest folk tended to land outside a city's walls, where they would have been driven away by the threat of Stane's army.

The public house where he took supper began near empty, but soon grew crowded as the news of his presence spread around the ward. Despite the press, he stayed lonely but for his shield and armor pieces beside him. The offers he made to share his table were all hastily yet politely declined, although one small girl edged close, and wasn't noticed by her parents as missing until she was caught trying on Stephen's helm and gauntlets.

It took an embarrassing amount of effort on his part, and tears on hers, to convince her father that no harm had been done -- that in fact the game had been all Stephen's idea. Then he had to fight again to pay for his soup, the proprietress insisting that it had been poor because of the siege, and not worth Stephen's coin. So Stephen overcame her by saying loudly to the room that Lord Stark would provide for everyone's meals. After that his gold was accepted.

Stephen collected his charger, paying the boy who'd watched him twice what had been promised. Though it grew dark, his reluctance to return to the palazzo remained in force. He told himself it was because the house was too large and forlorn, and that only someone who'd been raised to its overbearing excess would not find it discomforting.

When that failed, he reminded himself of Anthony's promise to resurrect the matter from last night. Stephen's mind was at present too weighty to suffer well Anthony's sly and lewd suggestions -- that was it. If any came tonight, he was liable to meet them with a strong response; and suddenly he longed to do just that, to ball his fists and shout and put an end to the whole superficial game.

The charger had his own opinion of where they should go, tossing his head and trying to take the bit. Stephen patted his arched crest, guessing that he aimed for his old stables. "Sorry friend, your home is elsewhere now. But come with me and I promise you a deep stall and plenty of hay. There's even Anthony's mare; I think she'll be fine company once you're better acquainted, and provided you're not dressed in plate."

Stephen had no trouble navigating the streets -- though if he had, he saw his own patrols frequently enough that they could have set him straight. Every pair he came across seemed surprised to meet their captain about so late, and hastened to reduce their swaggering to a more decorous pace.

(Oh, he would be sure to impress upon the whole guard his notion of proper conduct, and the importance of maintaining it in every official capacity.)

To reach Anthony's stables he passed the palazzo. That structure loomed dark and near as forbidding as he'd made it. It was also, remarkably, unguarded. That oversight would be among the first he corrected -- and Lord Stark's attitude along with it if need be.

He gave the charger to a groom, and on his way out spied the mare's flank gleaming in her dim stall. Good, her master would be home as well.

The plaza joining stables to house was likewise dim. If not for that, Stephen might have missed the trouble upon the nearby section of wall.

Halting, he turned back for a better look. No, he wasn't mistaken. Where there should have been a watch lamp there was none.

The ground beneath these curtains dropped off in a cliff. It was what gave the palazzo its incredible view, and also made this area of the city secure from a direct assault. Tomas had explained that the guards here were spread thinner, and it was often joked that they watched against suspicious birds and insects, for what could approach from below?

In short, it was a choice location for shirking, and for that reason Stephen decided to investigate himself before raising an alarm.

Stairs leading up were infrequent, and once he'd gained the wall his approach should have been noticed from a distance. He half expected to see the lamp light up and the guards scramble to appear dutifully attentive. There'd be hell to pay if he found the post abandoned, but it possible they'd brought up women, or played with their hands in each other's breeches, and hadn't wished to be detected from below.

What Stephen found instead made his temper seethe. "You disgrace, get on your feet!" He bent over and got a fist in the lone guard's jerkin, hauling him clear upright; the bottle that slid from the man's lax hand rolled to rest against the parapet. "Where's your partner? Stand up, damn you," he growled. "I won't tolerate dereliction, and you just had the terrible luck to volunteer as my example." Yet when he gave a bone-rattling shake there was no resistance, just a choked sound as the guard's head lolled sharply and his helm fell off.

Stephen returned the man to the ground with far more care than he'd picked him up. A quick test determined that his spark was steady, if unnaturally subdued. That fog he might lift on his own, but it wouldn't be pleasant for either of them. Gritting his teeth, he did it, with a shock that was like a plunge in an icy pond.

The guard's gasp became a thready moan. "Ahhhhh, whua-" he slurred. "H'rts."

"You'll live," Stephen told him without sympathy. "But if you're not here when I return, you may prefer death over the punishment you'll receive."

  
~~~~~  
  


It was three embroiled hours before Stephen was finally free to enter the palazzo. He strode straight for Anthony's chambers, and was neither surprised nor pleased to find the bed empty.

Anthony himself was discovered only by a careful search of the adjoining rooms, as he'd refused to draw Stephen's attention. The parlor in which he sat was nearly as dark as the rest, for he had but a single guttering candle for company. The hearth his chair faced was long cold.

"Anthony."

Anthony's half-lidded gaze was slow to find Stephen. "Ah, my errant knight-captain returns. Virginia and I missed you at supper."

"Now's not the time," Stephen said, searching the parlor's clutter for a lamp.

"I suppose it's too much to hope that you were engaged in that most soldierly of habits: depleting your newly bulging purse in a brothel." Anthony's words were precise for all that they were steeped in an odd lethargy. "Do you know, that amount of coin would buy you three of Mainhett's finest girls at once. Or three boys. Or one and two, or two and one."

Stephen snatched the candle to get the lamp started. His jaw stayed clenched; there was no answer he might give that wasn't better kept behind his teeth.

"Will you ask me how _I_ know that? No? Pity, it's a good story." Anthony slid lower in his seat, one leg thrown out straight and his fingers laced across his stomach. "Well, with your superiority it wouldn't have been a wine house, and guard business wouldn't have kept you all day and half the night. What was it then, orphans? Beggars? Beggar orphans? Or did you simply wait until I should be in my bed, so that you might creep to your own unmolested?"

"If that were the case, I wouldn't have taken the pains to stalk you to this lair," Stephen snapped. "As it happens, it _was_ guard business."

"Was that a bottle I saw you bring?" Anthony reached with his toe and nudged the empty one that lay tipped on the hearth stones. "My captain is so astute that he knows to provide reinforcements without my needing to call for them."

"Mother, not you too." Stephen marched over and kicked the entire chair around so that it better faced him, Anthony still in it and clinging to the armrests. "I took that bottle off the sot I discovered passed out alone at his post -- on the wall behind your stables, no less."

Anthony levered himself upright, expression sobering fast, though it impossible to say if he was more impressed by the revelation or Stephen's action.

"These past hours, I've had the master sergeant separated from his bed." Oh, and that man had been offended to be roused for what was clearly in his opinion a petty matter that should have waited for morning. He'd tried to take the trouble over, assuring that it would be handled with the "severity it deserved". After all, the crude business of enforcing discipline was beneath a captain's dignity, and wasn't Stephen anxious to return to the comfort of Lord Stark's... house after the excitement of the long day he'd had?

Putting aside that needling insinuation, Stephen recounted as he paced, "I had half the guard turned out with him, to sift through every den of vice between here and the gates for the sot's missing partner. I even had torches dropped below the wall to see if I might spot a body, in the case he'd fallen in his own stupor."

Sighing deep, Anthony dug his thumb into the point between his brows. "Was he found?"

"No."

"Did you try his quarters?"

"Yes. And those of his favorite doxy."

"You've had a busy night tearing my city apart," Anthony muttered, rising. His steps were as precise as his speech, and when he reached the table he leaned upon it with one palm while he took up the guard's bottle for inspection. "There's dregs left. Think he drank it all?"

"Some was spilled, though it's hard to say how much."

"The missing man, did you see his quarters yourself? Were they unusual or disarrayed?" 

"Yes, and not to my mind." Stephen came beside Anthony. "You think he was one of Stane's spies."

"It is a reasonable conclusion." Anthony sniffed at the bottle and, without warning, upended it to take a swig even as Stephen tried to snatch it away.

"No, don't you- Anthony!"

Anthony sputtered, hand slapped over his mouth as he searched about wildly before deciding on the hearth. He rushed there to spit the spirits into the old ashes. "Gods," he coughed.

 _"Mother preserve innocents and fools._ Are you all right?"

Anthony spat again and wiped his lips. "My palate isn't. That rotgut's killed it."

"There was no need to test it. I could have told you it was tainted."

"Could you have named the additive?" Anthony asked. "Then there was a need, if for my curiosity alone."

Stephen put the bottle down before the strength of his unhappy grip could shatter it. "And what did your curiosity learn you?"

"Nothing I hadn't already guessed." Anthony took his chair again, feeling behind him at the last to be sure he wouldn't miss the seat edge and wind up on the floor. "I suspect you'll find that your sot has a history of... besottedness," he smiled to himself. "Our spy couldn't have been seen dropping his messages, after all. But if he supplied that drink often, he'd have no trouble doing it beneath his partner's inebriated nose."

"This night was no message drop," Stephen said.

"No. I expect the spy has fled his roost. If you knew where to look, I wager you'd find the marks from a grapple hook somewhere on the parapet. As for the cliff, I'm sure Natalya could show you how he might have managed it unscathed." He mused, "So much effort. If he'd but asked politely, I would have escorted him from the city and shoved him into Stane's waiting arms myself."

Stephen took to pacing again. "You might find _some_ concern for the news of a spy within your own guard."

"One is nothing. Ten together might have found a way to open my gates, but that hasn't happened, has it?" His left leg, outflung, got in the way of Stephen's stride. When that was neatly avoided, he stretched to try with his right.

"Stop that."

"You stop. Sit with me, captain. Tell me of the rest of your day. Or would you rather be regaled by mine? Virginia made me hold audiences. It's been near a month since last I was able; and one might think that Stane's shadow would instigate some topics of real import. But what did Lord Rochis want?"

When Stephen failed to make any guess, Anthony gave a sound of annoyance and continued, "Special consideration so that my measures to ration Mainhett's stores will not interfere with his seasonal feasts. Oh, and Lady Tadini desired compensation, claiming that _mess-_ " His voice near cracked on the word, and he waved his hand wearily. "-outside the walls today sent tremors into her house that knocked her wedding ewer off its pedestal and broke it. As if she isn't called the Happy Widow. Everyone knows she loathed her husband."

Stephen came close, having to stand between Anthony's splayed legs to do it.

"What?"

"I don't think I enjoy you in this mood," Stephen decided.

"There's no surprise. It makes two of us."

"Anthony-"

Anthony set his boot sole on Stephen's armored thigh and pushed, to no avail. "If my captain won't entertain me-"

Stephen was sure he meant distract, but from what he couldn't quite figure.

"-then I'll dismiss him to bed. Off you go. Be sure to take all the rest you'll need for tomorrow. It has the earmark of another eventful day."

"I'll take you to yours first."

Anthony's laughter died almost before it began. "You say that, but you'll only leave me to face its cold expanse alone. I know your tricks." He wiggled his boot higher, aiming for the split in Stephen's faulds. "Go on Stephen, retreat before I might 'touch something I shouldn't'."

Stephen caught Anthony's boot and turned it aside from his groin at the last. "You'd truly throw that back at me?"

"Says the man who stopped a cannonball," Anthony mumbled. "There's so little ammunition can touch you, and I've thrown everything else I have."

His Mother's words returned to Stephen: _He gives himself at your feet in the only way he knows how._

"Now go. I'm not fit for company, yours least of all."

Stephen drew himself up and bowed more stiffly than could be blamed on his armor. "Very well, my lord."

  
~~~~~  
  


Lacking real directions, Stephen had chosen the smallest of the spare rooms for himself, and consequently the one farthest from Anthony's chambers. That distance separating them had failed to lend Stephen quietude, but it had reduced to an ignorable level the urge to check Anthony's progress toward sleep. Once he'd made his own bed, he'd stayed there till morning.

It was quite early for a light tread to be outside his door. Stephen froze, bent double in the act of climbing into his breeches. But it was Gervays, not Anthony or Virginia, and he'd already seen Stephen in a worse state of undress.

"Good morning, captain."

Stephen tied his laces and reached for his shirt. "Good morning." 

"I see you've taken a room."

"Yes, I- Is my choice acceptable?"

"Perfectly so, sir," Gervays' assurance seemed honest. "When you're ready, I believe milord requires your presence in the north parlor."

Stephen consulted what he knew of the house plan. "Is that the one with sunbursts painted on the mantle?"

"It is."

"Then I can find my own way. Thank you."

"I'll have breakfast sent up shortly."

"Thank you," Stephen repeated.

He found that parlor little changed from the previous night. It was still dim, and he spared brief curiosity for the recurring sunburst decorations in a room made of interior walls with no windows.

Anthony had changed chairs but not, Stephen saw at once, clothes. He lifted his head only far enough to mark Stephen's entrance before placing it gingerly back on the table. "Gods, just what I need."

"My lord, you-" Stephen's estimation of Gervays rose as he recalled the majordomo's exact words. That ruse had been cleverly executed. "Did you have any sleep?"

"Some," Anthony mumbled into his elbow crook.

"But not in your bed."

"And how many times did you slink to check I wasn't there?"

Stephen recognised the reference to his habit aboard the brigantine. "None." He moved to the table and took the opposite chair.

"Good. If I'd wanted a nursemaid I wouldn't have hired a guard captain."

 _If you'd wanted a guard captain, why did you hire a flotsam-knight?_ Stephen's gaze strayed apart from Anthony to notice the now pair of matched bottles tumbled on the hearth.

"Have mercy, you fiend, and soften your glower. It's loud enough to make my head ache."

"It wasn't even fixed on you. Besides, how can my countenance make a sound?"

"By its innate superiority, I'm sure. Ah, it's worse when it is fixed on me." Anthony finally sat up, his hair awry on one side and his cheek bearing the faint imprint of his shirt's embroidery.

"I see you managed to acquire reinforcements on your own."

"You should see my cellars. It's a shame man can't live on wine alone -- I should know, I've tried it \-- else my stock of those little glass soldiers would last Mainhett through another year at least of hardship." He scratched his jaw, considering. "It seems I have an army after all, if you still want to be my general."

"I don't." Stephen crossed his arms. "Recall that you maneuvered me to take the commission I do have."

"Will you put that look away. It was only two bottles. Half the heads in this city are likely more sour than mine. Or did you miss the festivities last night for all your tramping around?"

There hadn't seemed to be a great number of folk about, though Stephen would be the first to admit that what was ordinary for Mainhett was outside his knowledge. "What was the celebration?"

"Why," Anthony gestured sarcastically, "the premature end to the siege, of course. It's being called the shortest in Mainhett's history, never mind that it's the sole one."

"Ah," Stephen said. "Still, that leaves half your citizens as sensible."

"The division's not so simple. I'd give... two-fifths rejoicing too soon, and another tenth emulating their neighbors without knowing the reason. Maybe a quarter don't celebrate out of prudence, an eighth don't care which lord they drudge beneath, and another eighth would profit more off Stane's rule than mine."

Whether that was accurate or not, Stephen was certain of one thing: the occasion for Anthony's indulgence hadn't been a happy one.

Gervays entered bearing a tray. There was porridge for Stephen, but Anthony seemed more than content to be given a pot of coffee for his breakfast. He poured his own cup, hands almost steady, and breathed its aroma deep.

"Do you require anything else, my lord?" Gervays looked to Stephen as he said it.

"No, this is-" Anthony took a long slurp, his eyes drifting shut. "Gods that's good."

"Very well."

Stephen stirred the floating honey into his porridge, receiving a kick beneath the table when Anthony drew his chair closer. But it wasn't deliberate, nor did Anthony exaggerate his noises of pleasure for the sake of Stephen's reaction as he might have done. It should have been reassuring, yet instead seemed to Stephen as further symptoms of some lingering preoccupation. He asked slowly, "Will my lord have need of me today?"

Anthony gaped at him and lowered the cup. "I... expected to have you with me when I go to Stane's parley."

"What parley?"

"The truce?" Anthony prompted, his brows pinching together. "He and I are to treat before the gates at noon."

"When was this arranged? How?"

"Yesterday, soon after I- after the battery was destroyed. Your master sergeant brought the messenger along with your apology for not attending the matter yourself."

Stephen clenched his spoon until it bent. "As of this moment he is my master sergeant no longer. If he won't take a reduced rank then he'll leave your service, and be lucky it's not with the stamp of my boot on his backside." So the insinuation hadn't been idle, and that worm presumed Lord Stark must indulge his guard captain in bed as he did outside it. "And you should know better! You should have insisted to summon me."

Only Anthony's eyes hinted at his relief. "Then it wasn't guard business keeping you away."

Stephen pushed his bowl aside. "No, Anthony. My attention is yours foremost, especially where Stane is concerned. Ah, you had this on your mind last night and didn't say a thing."

"I thought you knew." Anthony studied his hands, still around his cup though it rested now on the table. "And... there was much else vexing me besides. I know that's a poor excuse for my words to you."

"What else?" Stephen asked. "I forbid you henceforth to hold anything from me that I'll inevitably have in the end -- and then with the disadvantage of added delay."

"You forbid me." Anthony seemed amused by that; truly he did indulge Stephen. "I brooded on what Stane might say to me, of course, and whether he intends to respect the peace or employ some trick." His voice grew soft. "But mostly I wondered how I'll go out on that field today, and gaze upon the hellish grave I made for thirty men, and feign that I have the stomach -- if not the appetite -- for inflicting worse before this war is done."

"You hadn't killed before," Stephen realized. Mother, it made him feel old and weary to his bones.

Anthony shook his head. "There was our rush to gain the gates, but that night was pure chaos, and I can't say how many I- Yesterday eclipsed it."

Stephen regarded him a long moment. "Did you ever find your answer?"

"At the bottom of a bottle? Oh indeed, it was there along with the grand arcanum to craft the philosopher's stone -- and the trove was guarded by a unicorn." Anthony joked, but Stephen saw again how he would renounce hope sooner than he'd watch it sit unfilled. 

"Then here is what you'll do: You'll have me by your side to counter Stane; and as for your burden, if it was truly earned in the course of your duty to Mainhett and her people, there's nothing _to_ be done."

"Nothing?" Anthony asked, curious despite his resignation.

Stephen made his face as honest and naked as he might. "A hundred years and a thousand prayers haven't lightened mine."

  
~~~~~  
  


That morning, Anthony's house had a procession of visitors such as it rarely did, and almost all of them for Stephen. He'd made his command post in the courtyard, acquiring a table with Gervays' assistance, and sat there with Virginia poring over a city map while his stream of guards came and went on errands.

The only one who'd seemed disconcerted by their captain's choice of venue and relentless efficiency had been the former master sergeant, who departed with his spine stiff, his plumed morion clenched beneath his arm, and his insignia of rank in Stephen's possession.

"Who will you pick to replace him?" Anthony asked. He'd attended the audience, refusing to speak or so much as hint at his opinion despite the man's repeated attempts to bypass Stephen and importune Anthony directly.

"For now? No one." Stephen raised his eyes to gauge the sun's progress overhead. "I'll have to see the sergeants at work before I'll have a sense for which of them might be- Well, it's too much to ask for an especial candidate. At this point I'll take competent and tolerable."

"No," Anthony said.

"What?"

"You can't have Virginia."

"I didn't-"

"You did, I saw you look to her just now." Anthony urged Virginia, "You witnessed it. Support me."

Virginia simply smiled and pointed on the map for Stephen, "Here is the main granary, and this storehouse here is taken up by the yield from the summer crop."

"You do possess just the orderly mind for the position," Stephen told her. "I would ask you in a heartbeat were you not so clearly satisfied and well-suited by your current place."

"I doubt the atmosphere of the guard hall would agree with me, but I thank you for the kind words."

"They were true, not kind."

Anthony gave his most aggrieved sigh. "If this continues, I'll end up losing the both of you to each other."

"Well, Stephen?" Virginia nudged him. "Shall we run away together when this is done?"

"Aha, and what would Natalya say?" Anthony grinned.

"That she would come with us, of course."

"Now that I'd pay to see. If anyone could manage the pair of you, it's Sir Indefatigable."

Stephen visibly threw his every shred of attention at the map. "The, ah, granary has a double guard already, but the overflow has been neglected. I'll rectify that at once. What are these buildings here?"

There was something else would happen by the time all this was done: Stephen would be more familiar with the city's mundane business than Anthony. In fact, it was possible Anthony's knowledge had already been surpassed. With that intriguing thought, he left his steward and captain to their conspiring and went to his own preparations.

He had seen no use in returning his armor to the workshop last night, so it had remained in his chambers where Gervays had helped him to strip. He laid it out now, giving each piece his critical inspection, and the less careful ministration of his polishing cloth. His steel didn't take a shine, but instead a rich glow that was if anything more striking.

It was good to occupy his hands. Anthony would have done the work himself even if Joyeux had been there to frown and fret.

Stephen found him when he was finishing with the helm. "There you are."

"Is it noon already?"

"Near enough." Stephen's plate had acquired some grime over the past days, but Anthony thought it looked the more distinguished for it. His shield, though, still gleamed like new as he set it down and came to assist Anthony. "We'll be late if it I fight too long with your buckles again."

"Take your time. Stane has doubtless also contrived to be late, so that he might keep me waiting as before my own gates in the manner of a petitioner."

"What do you think he will say?"

"I can tell you what he won't." Anthony slipped into his arming coat, and held his arms spread while Stephen laced it tight for him. "This folly's cost him much already. His pride will urge him to keep the field while there is still even a chance of remuneration. So I must convince him there is no chance; and appeal to his purse with the idea that only a hasty retreat to Heppouge might stauch its hemorrhaging." 

Stephen nodded to himself. "At times I forget that Stane has but a single city to his name."

"As do I, thank you very much." He stepped into the cuirass halves that Stephen held for him.

"I didn't intend to make light of your resources, or his. It is just that-"

"Stane is no Schmidt, I know," Anthony said, wondering how much, if at all, the histories had exaggerated the size of Heidrax's horde. "You are accustomed to war waged on a much different scale."

"But at the heart lies the same story of greed and suffering."

By the time Anthony was ready, the sun was past its zenith. An impromptu send-off arranged itself in the plaza: Gervays with other curious members of the household, Virginia and an assistant clerk, a troop of Stephen's guards, and grooms holding the horses. Caparisoned in her best, Anthony's Raina was too tense for misbehavior, and held still as stone while he mounted.

Virginia came to stand by his stirrup.

"Does the lady wish to present me with a favor?" Anthony's visor was not yet lowered. He knew she would see right through his smile, but gave it anyway.

"Only if you count a pearl of wisdom." Her eyes were so serious. "Be wary of treachery. A truce may be sacrosanct, but I wouldn't want to pit Stane's honor against the chance for an easy victory."

"Now you begin to sound like Stephen -- or Rhodes. Why, I imagine that wherever dear Rhodey is, he's just halted dead in his tracks, bewildered by his sudden urge to discuss granaries and guard details." 

Virginia swatted Anthony's foot. "I sound like Natalya. If my 'hand' maid were here, she would doubtless say the same warning to you, in less polite words."

Stephen adjusted his shield straps as he nudged his charger close. "My Lord Stark would do well to heed the advice he's heard repeated now by his friends, their proxies, and his guard captain."

Anthony pitched his voice low, so that normally only Virginia would be close enough to hear. "Someone cheats to count himself in there twice." Those superior ears didn't disappoint: Anthony saw Stephen's perplexity, watched it blossom into something warmer before Stephen grasped to school his face.

When they rode out, the guards fell in behind save the pair that stayed to watch the house. Stephen too fell back, making Anthony take the lead of what had become a true procession. It left no opportunity to converse, but there was little, if anything, Anthony might say that he'd want overheard.

Then, at the gates, it was Anthony who stayed hid from sight below while Stephen jogged up for a final look at Stane's army. He wasn't long away, and he nodded as he came back down the stairs. "Stane's men have withdrawn to an agreeable distance -- he respects the truce that much. Also, it is difficult to be sure with their ranks close and disarrayed, but I think their numbers have diminished some overnight."

"He's lost the faith of his mercenary captains, has he?" Or rather, Anthony's display upon the artillery had likely made some of them reconsider Stane's chances of success. It was said that a mercenary's first master was fortune, and that their loyalty moved in whichever direction that wind blew.

Stephen swung back astride his charger. "You can be sure that at least some of those who departed did so in the middle of the night without saying their goodbyes."

"It's a shame I can't find them and buy them myself." If for no other reason than that Stane would count it a great affront. "Are you ready?"

"Are you?"

Anthony clapped down his visor. "Captain, give the order."

"Open the gates!"

There was a scramble to obey. Anthony's portcullis was a monstrous affair of woven iron bars, yet a system of counterweights made it simple to work. They took position in the sally port, and as the grate before them raised with a clatter of chains, the one behind dropped to maintain the seal upon the city.

Anthony rode forward too soon, trying not to remember sounds Stane's crushed men had made as he ducked under the spikes that married portcullis to foundation stones. There was no reason that the sun without should feel heavier than it had inside his walls; he attributed the effect to the sudden transition from shade to light.

Stane would no sooner come in range of Anthony's cannons than Anthony would go within reach of Stane's army. They would meet in the center of the wide, naked field.

"Leave the escort," he told Stephen.

"Lord Stark..."

"You're more than a match for anything Stane might bring. I would show him both my confidence and my disdain. Do it."

"Yes, my lord." Stephen gave commands, not orders; the distinction seemed to reside in the way he he could speak with his whole body. "Unless I give the signal, the escort is to wait here for our return."

There was a chorus of, "Yes, captain."

Anthony rode out with Stephen at his heel.

As he'd expected, Stane had located himself so that the wretched crater blocked Anthony's most direct path. Rather than swing clear around it, Anthony skirted its very edge, changing his course only to avoid the largest pieces of debris. His visor's narrow eye slits were a blessing, both blunting the scene and preventing his morbid fascination from staring too long at any particular fragment in an attempt to identify its source.

Still, even as he was repulsed, his rational mind had to marvel at the evidence of the awesome force he'd unleashed. Surely there should be a method for describing and measuring such energy, beyond the use of common comparatives.

Stane met them at the head of his own procession, stopping short so that Anthony would have to close the last bit of distance. But that was a mistake, for it let Anthony choose how close he dared come, and that was very close indeed. He left barely a horse length between them when he halted.

For a long moment, the only noise was that of bits being chomped. Stane's guards, turned out in their best, were too well schooled on the parade ground to shift and make a sound. Stane was likewise splendid in armor of the latest fashion: thick-barreled with a tight, waspish waist, it was worked all over with engraving and gilt.

Anthony's own suit still put it to shame.

"Well? You wanted to speak, so speak."

Stane raised his visor, prompting Anthony to do the same. "That's a fine greeting."

"It's more polite than the one I received from your army at my homecoming."

Stane contrived to look injured, despite that the slash of his mouth was all but lost in his pewter beard. "The way I've heard it, my men might as well have been a carpet laid out in welcome for the ease with which you trampled over them."

Anthony had to smirk at that. He turned his gaze briefly to Stane's distant and lessened ranks. "Perhaps you should invest in a better quality of soldier. Oh, but those were your personal guards I trampled, weren't they?"

"Now Anthony-"

"Don't call me that," Anthony snapped, aware at the same time that he'd risen to the bait. Beside him, he caught the subtle play of sunlight on Stephen's shield, and knew it was ready to fly at the slightest provocation. Raina too sensed Anthony's tension, shifting beneath him to paw at the ground.

Stane could appear genial when he wished, the edges of his deep-set eyes crinkling. "Come, I've known you since you were a boy."

"You may have dined at my father's table but you were never welcome there."

"Lord Stark." Stane said it with the same air of condescension he'd always given Howard. "We're both reasonable men. In the spirit of our truce, can we not put aside old differences?"

"I gather by 'old' you mean prior to this moment. And I assure you that 'differences' does not begin to cover your sins against me in the last month, never mind the years preceding. Why, your Bishop gave me a striking reminder, that I might look in the mirror each morning and renew my antipathy."

Stane's expression hardened. So, he knew the story of his inquisitor's fate, and likely that of Anthony's brand as well. "It was generous of you to return my sailors, but I seem to recall that they departed Heppouge in a ship."

"How careless of them to lose it."

"And you still count yourself the only aggrieved party. Your father made a contract-"

"Precisely, _my father_ did. I was not obliged to honor it beyond his death."

"And yet you did honor it for as long as it suited you! Did you not inherit your father's property and debts along with your title? Indeed, once you became lord, was it not _your_ name upon the document?"

Stephen forestalled Anthony's response by reaching to touch his elbow.

Stane saw it, and marked the way Anthony immediately quelled -- just from a gesture he couldn't have felt through his plate.

"My lord, a word please," Stephen murmured. "In private." He turned his charger, expecting Anthony to follow.

Anthony did, waiting until they'd moved far enough to avoid being overheard. "That's certainly given credence to the rumors concerning us."

"I'd hoped you hadn't heard them."

"Heard them? I might have encouraged them. What's your pressing matter?"

"Don't look," Stephen warned, "but there's a signal fire started on Natalya's ridge."

Anthony knew the spot, high and to the east where Stane wasn't likely to see it, not in the daytime without Stephen's sharp eyes. "It's good to finally have news from her \-- and I hope Rhodes as well -- but the truce hardly permits me to take in reinforcements." He considered. "If I were to break it, there could be no better time. How quickly could you have Stane beneath your shield?"

"The fire is not steady. It comes and goes from sight, as though it's being blocked apurpose. Your guards also make those patterns with their lamps; this one means trouble."

"Think it's our spy?"

"He'd have no reason to caution us."

"Damn. Give me another minute to see if I can learn Stane's plan. If I hear your signal, we'll gallop for the gates."

Stephen took precious time deciding, and finally nodded. "Do it quick."

Anthony wouldn't let himself be distracted by old arguments again. This time, he reined in well shy of his earlier location, raising his voice to compensate. "Stane! I still haven't heard your terms. You must have some in mind, since our purpose here is to work toward a... peaceful resolution."

There, a flicker of unease chased through Stane's eyes. "Yes, my terms for your surrender. I will spare Mainhett if you pledge to me as your overlord. You will yield the secret to make your red steel, and your workshops will resume my trade. In return, I will allow you to maintain the same position your father held."

The terms were exactly what Anthony had anticipated, yet they were still wrong. "How lenient of you," he said, for Stane had failed to praise his own generosity even once. "What of the brigantine?"

"She will be returned to me."

Such a sore point would never be left for an afterthought. "And my walls?"

Stane glanced behind his shoulder in the direction of his ranks. "A quarter will be torn down, so that they are returned to the same condition as your father left them."

There was still no word from Stephen, but by his posture his every sense must be alert to its fullest. If Stane's army had so much as twitched, he and Anthony would be making headlong for safety.

Anthony not so subtly rested his hand upon his sword's pommel. "Your terms are a shit-pile," he told Stane, "and you waver atop it on one leg. You'll spare Mainhett because you have no choice. Even if you were to buy new cannons, you'd never find gunners willing to take up a ramrod against the demon who can make fire spew up from the very earth. Your mercenaries desert in the middle of the night -- although it's good you have less of them to pay, considering how the gold must be pouring from your coffers."

 _"You raging, arrogant prick."_ Stane clenched his reins, causing his horse to open its jaw and back a step. "I don't know how you accomplished that scene yesterday, but if you could duplicate it you would have already done so beneath my feet."

Behind him, Stane's guards grew nervous, testing their grips on their halberds; and no few of them eyed the ground with fresh apprehension.

"Anthony." Stephen raised his shield to signal his guards.

"What's a quick death against lingering humiliation and ruin?" Anthony asked. "Try to keep the field through winter and you'll be bankrupt long before I'll starve. Your only sane course is to run back home to Heppouge. If you're lucky, you can return that atrocious plate and recoup some of what it cost you. I can see from here it's still in pristine condition -- it hasn't taken a single shot save the proof ball when it was made."

"Anthony, we are going. _Now._ "

"Stark! I know that you recovered on that island an artifact you'd chased long and far. I know its power preserved you more than once when you should have died. Believe that I will have it for my own!"

Finally, the truth.

Anthony scarcely recognized his own voice for its voluminous calm. He said: "If you had any comprehension of that jewel's real nature, you'd know it can't be taken, only given. It will never be yours."

He clapped down his visor, wheeled his mare, and charged with Stephen for the gates.

  
~~~~~  
  


> _"Please."_
> 
> _"Careful, my fairest. You stray near to asking for that which you know I may not give."_
> 
> _True, She only ever worked through Her children; and Stephen had never met another who'd known Her influence so completely as he had. "It is only confirmation I desire. You could give it quicker than any other means I might try." That was the strongest request he would make._
> 
> _Her smile was so fond that his heart swelled with it. "I have a way, but it's not what you think. Come, give me your face."_
> 
> _Stephen shed his helm and knelt before her, gazing up as she took him between her hands._
> 
> _"Close your eyes."_
> 
> _The instant he did, he could see again. But this new vision was unsettling, inhabited by colors he could not name, and possessing a clarity and range he should not have._
> 
> _He turned his beak to preen a wing feather -- or rather, his host did. Of course, innocent creatures were Her children, too._
> 
> _There was movement on the floor of the woods, at a distance his mind told him was great, yet his host-mind said was almost too near for comfort. Natalya was there, her hair standing out like a bonfire as she wound it up to tuck beneath a hood. Beside her was Rhodes, an exceedingly fascinating gold and ruby band flashing on his hand as he gestured. And beyond those two were many more people -- 'many' seemed to be as accurate a count as he could make, for his bird's-eye flitted from buckles to sword hilts to a moth drifting on a breeze. Faces were of no consequence save for the instinct that the direct gaze of a potential predator should be avoided._
> 
> _Stephen blinked, and was back in his own borrowed room, nearly dizzy from the sudden transition._
> 
> _"Was that confirmation enough?"_
> 
> _"It was, thank you." He shut his eyes again, this time to ordinary blackness, and drifted in the feel of Her fingers stroking through his hair until he was secure in being himself once more. "I should find Anthony. He'll want my news."_
> 
> _"Mm. There is much he wants from you of late."_
> 
> _Stephen sighed. "There is." And much he seemed to offer in return, but rarely with a serious face._
> 
> _"Have you given thought to what you would have from him?"_
> 
> _"Besides the command of his guard, a bed in his house, a fine horse, and a purse full of coin?" He knew he should be grateful. Most would count their lives well-spent to earn even half that._
> 
> _"Perhaps you should consider it," She suggested, bending to kiss his crown. "While there is still time."_
> 
> _"Still time? What does that mean?"_
> 
> _But She was gone, the lingering scent of roses on the air Her only reply._

  
~~~~~  
  


Neither Virginia nor Gervays could recall seeing Anthony since his parley with Stane, despite that he'd told Stephen that he would ride straight home; and the escort Stephen had sent chasing after him had returned to the guard with confirmation.

Stephen's idea to try the workshop was correct. Anthony was there, still in his armor and moving listlessly about his tools. He hadn't lit the lamps, despite that the low-hanging sun gave dying light in through the roof panes. Indeed, it was Stephen's experience that those who wished to be alone in the company of their thoughts often preferred gloomy surroundings.

He watched a moment from the door, then another moment longer than he should. The scene did stir something in him, but not, Stephen suspected, in the sense She had meant. There were things he desired _for_ Anthony -- peace, security, contentment -- the same as he did for every deserving person and creature. And he realized at once that he did not truly desire the cessation of Anthony's teasing. It was at worst vexing, while at best it could make Anthony's eyes brim with laughter.

What did he want, then?

The answer came when Anthony lingered with his hand upon the great anvil. Stephen recalled doing the same, along with the request he'd made the time. He did wish to sit and follow Anthony's progress at the forge; and spend evenings in the library hearing of the advances he'd missed; and perhaps one day when Mainhett's gates could stand open again, ride out with Anthony to see the land around the city. He should make sure to have all those things before it came time to resume his wandering, lest he lose the chance.

Anthony saw him, visibly pushing away his thoughts before finding a smile. "You're home from the hall early today. Did you come for some purpose, or merely to stand in the door and watch me pace?"

"Both," Stephen said, hoping to disguise the truth in humor. He joined Anthony. "The new watches are in place, your guards as ready as I can make them."

" _Your_ guards."

"They wear Lord Stark's livery. They can be his when they are in fine shape, and their captain's when they need repair or discipline."

"Hmph. Does your visit truly have a purpose? If not, you have my permission -- no, my blessing -- to invent one." Anthony pushed away from his anvil and moved deeper into the shop. "The distraction would be welcome." 

"I was thinking on the signal fire, and whether or not it was Natalya made it."

Anthony's helm sat on the broad table near his shelves and their numerous jars and bottles. Here he'd clearly spent some time, for spread in pieces was what looked to be one of Natalya's clever flares, along with some delicate tools and, oddly, a gold and jeweled chest that was nearly as large as a bread loaf.

The makeshift sleeping pallet was nowhere in evidence, but Stephen suspected it was simply hid awaiting its next use.

"If not Natalya, then I can't guess who might have," Anthony said, "but I expected to have word from her sooner."

"Maybe she had no more pigeons, or maybe the one she sent met a hawk along the way," Stephen said, recalling his bird-host's constant watch for danger. He could keep it to himself no longer, and told Anthony about the sight his Mother had granted him.

Anthony listened, first with that smile, then with sharpened interest when Rhodes and Natalya entered the tale. "Was Joyeux with them?"

"He is not so easy to distinguish. I might not have recognized him."

"And how many did Furiast send?"

"More than a dozen? I... had difficulty counting."

There went Anthony's eyes, alight with mischief. "Why Stephen, did your superior vision fail you?"

Stephen found his own gaze dropping. "I wouldn't like to be a bird. At least, the one I visited had a capricious mind."

"Still, to have wings... What was it like to fly?"

He'd done nothing besides perch on a branch, yet the wistfulness of Anthony's question made him say, "The most joyful dance you can imagine, with the wind as your partner."

"My captain has a poetic side," Anthony murmured. "And there is my daily surprise. Oh Stephen, never change."

Would a leavetaking count as change? Anthony would doubtless argue yes. Stephen cast about for a new topic, his gaze landing on the table. "Have you dismantled one of Natalya's flares?"

"My flares. I thought to-" He studied Stephen anew, not fooled in the slightest. "Well, you heard Stane. It was bad enough when he wanted my city and my steel, but those prizes pale next to a power that can preserve life. If he believes I've found the arcanum..."

Anthony had called Stephen a jewel, but the rest had been near enough the truth. "You hardly discouraged that belief."

"You hardly gave me the time. Besides, his ears would have warped my words into what he wanted to hear. Stane's not a young man. He has to realize that all the gold in the world can't keep the years at bay." Anthony reached to sort the flare's pieces; now he was the one who couldn't face Stephen. "He won't quit. He'll starve us out, and he won't care if he makes himself a pauper to do it. So I thought to... give him what he wants."

Ah, the gold chest. It did look fit to house the most precious jewel, but it was meant to hold a vile trap. "You intend to kill him by treachery."

Anthony shrugged. "I'd sooner put my sword through him, but I'm not likely to get close enough to do it. And I can't rely on Natalya finding a way to open his throat. So it's treachery or a long, miserable winter -- or treachery _and_ a long, miserable winter if I squander my chance. I'll have but one, and Stane won't be easy to deceive."

"There is another course," Stephen said slowly.

"I forbid it."

"You haven't even heard what I would say."

"Would you kill him for me?" Anthony asked, his mouth twisting when Stephen failed to respond emphatically. "No, you're too honorable to break your word or quit any bargain you might strike."

"You know me too well," Stephen decided. How much had changed in the past weeks.

Anthony left the table to return to his furnaces, a circuit he must have made a thousand times by the precise, measured quality of his strides. "I came here today with a mind to clean the slag from my smelting pot. But then I thought: What's the use? If we're trapped for the winter, I won't have new commissions to make, and I won't be able to waste fuel on selfish projects. I'll end up mending pots like a common tinker."

Stephen trailed after him. "It won't matter what you hammer. I'll still come to watch you."

"You would, wouldn't you?"

"And... there is your library," Stephen said. His motives felt naked despite their innocence.

Anthony looked up sharply. "You remember that."

Stephen nodded, embarrassed at once. He also should have remembered that Anthony was a lord with a whole city's needs to attend. History lessons would be a frivolous use of his hours. "That is, if your offer to give me its use was serious, I thought I might... hire myself a tutor."

"That wasn't my offer and you know it."

"Anthony-"

"Gods, you can be so wretchedly obtuse when you want to!" Anthony strode back to Stephen, his eyes flashing without a trace of humor now. "I would make lessons an excuse to sit in your company, the same way you would make watching me hammer an excuse to sit in mine. Or were you truly curious about the method to tell when a billet is ready to be worked?"

"I am curious," Stephen protested, taking shelter behind that narrow truth.

Anthony dared him, "Then say there is no excuse. Say you'd be just as intrigued to watch my old teacher pound his anvil. In fact, say the word and I'll convince him to instruct you. He claims he's done taking pupils, but for you he'd make an exception."

He couldn't say it.

"I thought as much. The answer, of course, is to observe the heat-color of the metal. I'll show you when I- What?"

Stephen had cocked his ear to listen. "Shh."

"What is it? My cannons would speak if there were trouble from Stane; and the truce doesn't expire until sundown."

A lone bell tolling was not remarkable, but this one sustained its rapid voice, and was soon joined by the clamor of other, louder ones. Anthony heard it too now, and chased outside after Stephen. 

The alarm was picked up and carried throughout the city's wards. From the noise alone it would have been impossible to guess at the reason or source; but Stephen caught a distressing odor on the air at the same time his eyes found, against the backdrop of twilight, a darker smudge rising above rooftops to the south and east.

Fire, inside Mainhett's walls.

"No," Anthony moaned, "Gods, no, not the storehouses."

"I must go. If there is need to mount a defense-" As if there could be coincidence in a distraction timed exactly to the end of the truce. _Mother, our spy didn't flee, he went to ground to bide his time._

Anthony shook himself free from that initial stroke of dismay, purpose hardening his eyes. "I seems I mistook Stane once again, and Mainhett suffers for my folly. Go, attend her walls. I'll battle the blaze."

  
~~~~~  
  


Stephen took up his helm and his shield from his chambers, slowing only to avoid a collision with Virginia and to shout to her the matter. By the time he made the stables, Anthony was gone, and the groom was leading Stephen's armored charger into the yard.

The guards Stephen had set to watch the palazzo came rushing to meet him. "Captain!"

"Where are the other two?"

"Chasing after Lord Stark."

"Good." Stephen swung astride. "Back to your post. Under no circumstances are you to leave it except by order of myself or Lord Stark. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, captain!"

"And stay alert for anything!" he threw back over his shoulder, putting his heels to the gray.

Mainhett's citizens swarmed the streets, most without aim and anxious for news: Which buildings burned? How far would the fire spread? How many folk had been caught in it? How would the city face a siege with no food?

Stephen pressed on without answering, his charger like the prow of a ship cutting choppy seas, until he ran aground near the edge of the central plaza.

The shoal was a richly-dressed man, darting out to snatch at Stephen's reins. "Captain, I'm so pleased to make your acquaintance at last. I am Lord Rochis, and I have a hundred bolts of the best eastern silk sitting in a warehouse that is imperiled by the blaze. Your assistance-"

Stephen leaned over and fisted the front of his gorgeous doublet, hauling Rochis up so that they were staring eye to shocked eye. "My Lord," he said flatly, "I'd have no trouble riding for the gates with you dangling off my arm, but if you'll release your grip, I will mine. Call it... mutual assistance."

Rochis dropped the reins in a flash, and was placed lightly back his feet.

"Most appreciated, milord."

"Ahh-"

"Now, if you would save your property, rally your household and this useless milling crowd, take up every bucket you can find, and go put them all to use. You _can_ lead citizens and work a bucket, can't you?"

"Well, yes, I-" Rochis straightened his doublet where Stephen had mangled it. "Of course I can."

"Then good luck to you, milord." Stephen bowed his head and pushed on.

The guard hall fared better than he'd hoped, nervous and confused but not descended all the way to chaos. He gathered up his sergeants and made for the wall, calling for news along the way.

"It's taken the hay store -- the whole building up in an instant, with flames a hundred feet high!"

"I heard it sparked in the timber yard and spread.

Stephen said, "Did anyone witness it start?" 

One of them shouldered forward, his sword scabbard knocking his fellows in the knees. "My Pytor was the first to spy the smoke on his rounds, captain. Aye, it was the hay store, and there weren't no sign of trouble beforehand. I questioned him if he could recall anything odd, and he said no, last he saw it that barn was locked up dark and tight as a virgin's-"

" _Thank you,_ sergeant." Mother, what house or building in the city wasn't vulnerable to fire? He couldn't set protection over them all. There were scarcely enough guards left after manning the walls to watch those critical stores where theft was a worry.

It wasn't pleasant to hope that the spy had been caught and burned by his own malice.

> _"Perhaps not, but it would have been a fitting end." Her voice held no satisfaction, telling Stephen what he needed to know._
> 
> _"Then there's nothing to stop him from striking again. Should he fail to reach one target, there are a dozen more to try. But why should he fail when he has his guard's livery and the pretense of authority amid crisis?"_

"Captain?"

"Nothing." Stephen left the sergeants behind by taking the stairs three at once, unslinging his shield as he strode out atop the curtain. The sun was well below the horizon now, the little daylight that remained ceding rapidly to blackness; and the moon would not rise for hours. It was the exact time Stephen himself would have chosen to organize an assault, and likewise the worst time to defend. The dark removed any advantage of Anthony's far-reaching cannons, for accuracy was no use when the gunners aimed by guesswork and prayers.

Even he could catch no glimpse of Stane's army in the gloom, but he imagined he could taste them out there -- their excitement and fear as they sweated in their armor and gripped their pikes and strained for the order that would hurl them against Mainhett's walls. He remembered how waiting was the true agony; and how that first lurching step toward mortality was the one that could shatter a soldier's mettle. Once the choice between life and death was given into the hands of fate, everything that came after was a relief.

"I need my sergeant of the south wall."

"Here I am, captain," one said, jogging to catch up.

"What changes did you observe in the foe before nightfall?"

"None, sir," that man said at once. "Their routine seemed normal, and regular as a tower clock."

Despite that the knot of them stood exposed in torchlight, no shots came their way. That, too, told Stephen something. "Where is my gunner-sergeant?"

"Here, captain."

Stephen drew him aside. "Have your cannons arrayed for close fighting, five hundred yards or less."

"It'll be canister shot you want then, sir."

"Canister shot?"

"Aye, under three hundred yards and we can afford to double-load the charges. Believe me, sir, there'll be bloodshed if those dogs are fool enough to rush us."

That was precisely what Stephen feared.

  
~~~~~  
  


Anthony knew fire intimately. Its properties were heat foremost and dryness secondary; its nature was active, the agent by which everything imperfect could be consumed or destroyed. It was the element that infused all life, just as cold ruled death's antithetical embrace.

This fire raged with its own life, lustful in its hunger as it sought to escape the confines of the ruined barn. Just beyond its scrabbling claws lay a feast; and Anthony, who'd been relieved that it was "only" the hay store lost, quailed to comprehend just how far the disaster could spread.

There were four methods to kill a blaze. A bucket line had formed, but all the water in Mainhett's cisterns would need to be delivered at once to match the fire's heat. Each single pail was boiled away to steam in an instant. No globe existed that was large enough to suffocate the fire, and smothering was likewise no use. Protected in his armor, Anthony had dared get close with a fire hook; but even weakened, the barn's walls had resisted coming down. Small wonder if his father had had a part in the construction.

Starvation it would have to be. "You there," Anthony called to the man organizing the buckets. Then, _"Rochis?"_

"Stark." Rochis, whose trade was cloth and who could be counted on to set whatever fashions Anthony didn't, was grubby and soot-stained. No wonder Anthony had failed to recognize him at once. "I can see your surprise at finding me here. Indeed, I'm surprised to find myself here. The Captain of the Guard makes a compelling case."

Yes, that was Stephen. "Let the barn burn. Water is wasted on those flames. Put it instead on the close buildings, wherever there's bare wood." Here Anthony had reason to thank his father's meticulous design, for the prevalence of stone and tile had already done half the work in containing the blaze. "And send a dozen men with soaked sheepskins and ladders to chase the sparks downwind and beat them out where they fall."

Rochis tipped his head to watch that charry trail drift across the sky, in the direction where his financial interests lay. He frowned. "Consider it done."

"Good. I charge you to remain here until the fire is down to coals and there is no more danger it could spread."

"My lord?"

"This crime is almost certainly a diversion made by one of Stane's spies. If Ste- if the captain is right, and I trust that he is, the walls will come under attack before much longer. That is where I go now. I need you to _keep this post,_ and do not allow yourself to be distracted from your task."

The bow Rochis made was curt, far from his usual showy affair. "Yes, my lord." He waded in to marshal the bucketers.

Anthony watched him go, his confidence in the man at a new highpoint. The blaze stole his attention once more as it pulled down what was left of the barn's inner supports in a new eruption of sparks. At the best, Mainhett's ability to withstand the siege had been shortened considerably. There were going to be lean flanks and bellies all around.

He gathered Raina from his escort, promising her, "You and Stephen's brute can graze in the garden, and I won't think of eating you unless we're all starving in the streets."

The guards fell in behind as Anthony made for the gates.

Their progress was halted almost at once by a fresh outcry of alarm bells. Anthony reined in to listen. When the guards turned to look west as he did -- and when his cannons remained silent -- he counted half his fears confirmed.

If Anthony were the spy setting fires in his enemy's city, he too would position them in the most inconvenient fashion, to make choosing where to send the buckets a nightmare. But there was something else significant about the placement, if indeed the bells marked only the second fire, not the third or the fourth.

Stane had to know he wouldn't recover the jewel he sought if the city burned down on top of it. Or did the spy act on prior instructions, with no message sneaking through to countermand them? Gods, how much more dire could the night become?

Anthony could take small comfort in knowing one certainty: chasing Stane in circles was the worst possible course to take. He motioned his escort close. "Do either of you recall one of your own going missing off the wall last night?"

"Aye, milord. That'd be Rook you mean."

The second guard added, "Me and Nicco here was out half the night with the cap'n huntin' for him. M'lord."

"Rook?"

"As he was called, milord. Don't think I ever heard his given name."

"He's likely the one laying these fires." Indeed, Anthony could see now a telltale smudge of orange to the west. "Find him. Stop him."

They looked to each other uneasily, as if Anthony demanded of them a miracle.

"Take horses for yourselves -- I don't care where you steal them -- and have any guards you meet in the street join the search. He'll be dressed as one of you. If the pattern holds-" Anthony recalled with a sinking heart Natalya saying: _The rest of Mainhett can burn for all Stane would care, and he'd torch your house himself._ That building was so much stone, but a lamp thrown through a window might still be enough. And now was the time to try, with Anthony and Stephen distracted elsewhere. "He'll go north. Warn my house to be on alert if you don't catch him there in the act."

"Yes, milord."

"Hurry!"

They turned together and scrambled off.

The decision between walls and fire should have been a simple one to make. Stephen knew his business, and Anthony could trust no one better than him to preserve Mainhett from the threat without. Yet the first report of her awakening cannons almost, _almost_ had Anthony bolting back the way he'd come.

He needed to see the new fire himself, determine if there was any way it might be trapped or killed before it could spread.

_Hold fast, my captain._

Anthony aimed west and gave Raina her head.

  
~~~~~  
  


Stane must have moved his army under the cover of dark: the assault came from the east.

Stephen wasn't there to meet the initial wave, but he arrived at a run from the gates in time to see the second. Ever since that opening volley, the cannons had fallen out of unison, so that they made a sustained attack on the senses as well. The blinding flash and echoing clap of each discharge had no time to fade before the next issued.

If not for that blessing, he knew his ears would have been filled with the cries of the wounded and dying. The first wave had reached all the way to the ditch before breaking, pulled down not by the fire from cannons that sat facing the field, but instead by those angled the long way from each bastion -- straight down the enemy's more vulnerable flanks. Despite understanding the merits of this particular defensive design, it was the first Stephen had seen the horrible evidence of its success.

He took in what he could of the field in those bursts of light. Stane's army was spread wide across the whole eastern wall, but it was also thin here near the south. Even as Stephen watched, the nearest cannon spat into the ranks, dropping a dozen foes as if they'd been slapped into the ground by a great hand. The poor bastards died for no reason but to disguise where the main thrust would come -- he was sure of it. 

"Captain!" The east wall sergeant found Stephen.

"Can you see yet where the spear tip will try to pierce us?"

"No, sir. Word is the same all along the wall. We're turning the dogs back with ease." As he said it, a cheer rose from the defenders to see the second wave crumble still a hundred yards from the ditch.

Anthony's guns chased the retreat to bloody effect.

"This is wrong."

"Captain?"

Wrong to shoot fleeing men in the back, and wrong that they should flee so in the first place. "Stane comes at us with calculated ruthlessness, not incompetence." What he would say next was stilled in his throat by a sight far across the field, right against the treeline if his memory served. It was a light where none should be, bursting to full bloom from nothingness.

The closest cannon was primed again, its team of gunners signing to each other as they worked. Stephen needed his eyes to remain undazzled, but there was an even more pressing concern.

"Have the cannons stand down."

"Captain, all of them?"

"I said stand down!" Stephen shouted at the gunners, who went about their business unimpressed, their battered hearing doubtless telling them nothing. When he saw the slow match being raised he lunged, bowling over his sergeant and shifting his shield in his grip as he went. He flung his arm out at the last, shield slipping between the glowing match and the touch hole; his gunners halted in confusion.

The wall sergeant picked himself up and hobbled over, yelling orders as he came.

That light Stephen saw was down to a glow now, but it was still the wrong color, harsh and white without a fire's warmth. He'd encountered it before.

"Hold all fire from the walls unless I give the signal. I believe our allies mean to enter the fray." Natalya and her flares were out there, and Stephen hoped Rhodes as well; in fact, his decision counted on it.

"Allies, captain?"

"Just wait."

Along the wall, the cannons grew mute, the cheers of the guards subsiding with them. Then, into that unnatural calm lifted the bray of a strange horn. Its voice was mournful, ending on a downward note, not at all a sound that rallied troops to battle. When it repeated, Stephen recognized the message, for it mimicked the call of a boatswain's pipe to all hands.

"Give me a torch, a bright one." One was raced into his hand, and Stephen strode as far out as he could on the bastion's point. There, he fixed his shield so that the torch fell full across its face. Anthony had once accused him of shining like a beacon. Well, now he truly was one.

The horn called again, its attitude much changed. For long, heart-pounding moments it reigned over the field. There was no accompanying roar as from the throats of an unleashed charge, no clatter of armor or rumble of advancing boots. Even the wounded in the ditch below stilled their moans and listened.

A scream came from the dark. 

"Hold fire." Stephen's warning was picked up by the sergeant and repeated along the curtains.

More screams came, sporadic at first, and without the crash Stephen would expect from ranks meeting ranks. Then, chaos as the wave of Stane's retreating men was turned back and driven once more for the walls -- not by stony sergeants, but by a lash made up of black-clad figures.

Furiast's men moved as shadows given breath, near-silent in their grim work, for it seemed that the only cries came from Stane's rear line as it was clawed in the back, again and again. The enemy's front line reached the trench and faltered, stumbling over the corpses of those who'd fallen before them; the second arrived with enough momentum to throw the first over that lip and topple in after them. The third never reached the ditch at all.

There wasn't a single heart present that didn't recognize what came next. Stephen could no more stop it than he could have held back the tide. He made himself stand as he was -- looked down and caught the desperate gaze of a boy below. That soldier had thrown down his weapon to scrabble at the wall as if he might scale his way to safety, but whatever he saw in Stephen's torch-lit face made his panic slow, then stop as he surrendered to his fate.

Stephen nodded to him, watched him retrieve his pike -- the same one that five minutes ago he would have been glad to drive through Stephen's throat -- and turn to meet a man's end.

_Oh Mother, gather to your breast the righteous souls sundered from their mortal flesh tonight, that they might have serenity at last._

Furiast's shadows poured into the trench, drowning the foe in their own blood.

  
~~~~~  
  


The spy had chosen his target well. The houses in this ward were poorer, less stone and more wood. By the time Anthony drew near the blaze it had already engulfed half a dozen structures, and was extending its voracious maw toward twice as many more.

Raina snorted and danced. The same smoke that vexed her filled Anthony's lungs with its acrid heat and squeezed tears from his eyes. _"That honorless, syphilitic goat-fucker."_ The storehouses he could understand, vital as they were to Mainhett's livelihood. But this was warfare waged upon her weakest citizens, contemptible in every way.

Anthony saw at once that there was no relief to organize, no efforts that could quell the blaze. Two streets already were as good as lost, and the rest of the ward would follow. The best he could hope was to remove the folk in the fire's path, so he called up the city's map, fresh in his mind from- _Gods, was that only this morning?_ -and conjectured where a safe distance might be.

The wall would form a fire break, the plaza to the south another. East was a churchyard that might stop it, but the nearest barrier to the north was a wide street that ran like a wheel's spoke, leaving the whole wedge of the city beneath it likely to be consumed.

There was a crowd gathered in the street, none quite daring to approach, but Anthony felt the burden of their hope settle on him all the same.

He had no choice but to stumble and break it. "You there, and you."

The pair he'd called came forward. "Lord Stark?" It was an older woman with her nose and mouth veiled against the smoke who spoke.

When Anthony saw how stricken her eyes were, he found a kindly face to give her, as he knew Stephen would have done. "Can you afford to take a task for me?"

"Aye, my lord. I've no children to tend, and everything else I had lies burning."

"Take any who will go and make for the church east of here. Find the clerics and tell them that the fire cannot be allowed to spread beyond their yard. Use buckets, shovels, anything you can to block its path."

"I'll do it, my lord."

"Thank you. And you, will you help to spread the warning?"

The man standing with her nodded his shaggy head almost as a bow. "I've been told I got a strong set of lungs, my lord. Might as well put 'em to good use."

"Then gather what help you can and head west for the wall." To the man's shocked expression Anthony said, "Yes, the blaze could fan that far. Tell any you find in its path to forget their things and leave -- tell them I order it. No one is to salvage their belongings at the risk of their life."

A voice from the crowd called, "That's easy for milord to say!"

Anthony pretended not to have heard. "And be sure to assist any who can't assist themselves."

"I figured, milord," the man said.

"Good. Both of you, go with my thanks." Anthony indicated three more who'd edged forward in the crowd. "You lot with me. The rest of you clear out! Keep at least one street between you and the fire, lest it jump ahead and trap you. Go!"

Anthony rode north, pounding on closed doors and shouting his warning to those who'd already gathered, until his arm flagged and his voice grew hoarse. But all who saw him heeded him, if not for who he was then for his soot-streaked armor and willingness to carry the message himself.

He'd been so intent on ignoring his distant cannons that he'd scarcely noticed the breaks in their work. But as he was raising his fist to the next door, Raina flinched and carried him out of reach. An instant later he understood her alarm, for a new portent rolled across the rooftops to reach his ears. Huge and awful, that noise was like a whole battery of cannons firing in concert.

It came from the direction of the gates.

  
~~~~~  
  


This made the second time Stephen recognized Natalya by her hair.

She approached beneath his bastion, removing her odd, peaked sallet as she stepped over the body of the young pikeman. Until then, in her black leathers, she'd been indistinguishable from the rest of the shadows.

"Natalya, here." As if his shield hadn't led her straight to him.

"Throw down a rope, I have urgent news!"

There was no rope near to hand. "Throw up that pike!"

She pried it from dead fingers and hefted it to test the weight. "Stand clear."

"Throw it straight up," he insisted, and to her obvious surprise snatched it neatly from the air on its ascent. He dropped flat, worming through a crenel and as far out over the wall as he might, with the pike's shaft dangling beneath him. It reached perhaps half the distance to her head. "Can you-"

Natalya replaced her sallet. She retreated two steps, turned and made a running leap that lifted her high enough to stretch and snag the very end of the pole. Her weight jerked Stephen's arms, but before he could ready himself to haul her up, she'd finished the climb, hopping lightly over the parapet to assist Stephen to _his_ feet.

Retrieving the fallen torch, he said, "Thank you." And, dumbly, "I saw your flare."

Natalya gave him a look as if to say, _Now who is surprised?_ "And I saw your shield."

"Is Rhodes-"

"He and Joyeux regroup with Furiast's commander. Where is Anthony? Who orders Mainhett's defense?"

"I do. Anthony made me his captain... he went to battle the fire." Stephen turned his attention inside the walls for the first time since the attack had begun, and spied a ruddy glow in the west that eclipsed the closer burning storehouses. " _Fires,_ oh Mother..."

Natalya's cold appraisal took in the city's condition. "Then, captain, I urge you to ready your men against the real attack. That prong we just broke was but a diversion."

"I'm aware."

"What you don't know is that we followed those reinforcements of Stane's up from the south. They were late to arrive, and kept hidden in the woods so that you wouldn't know to add their number to your count. Stane intended to spring them as a trap when Anthony was fool enough to treat with him in the open. Fortunately, they met an... unexpected delay moving into position, and so that plan failed."

Stephen paled to realize how close he'd come with Anthony to making another desperate bid for Mainhett's gates -- and without the dark and confusion of that first night to hide them. "I saw your warning then, too. You have my eternal gratitude for your aid." Speaking of aid, "How many did Furiast-"

The question was lost to a fresh outburst from the cannons, not to the east, but from the south by the gates.

"It begins," Natalya said of the new furor. "And we're but two hundred strong."

"If it's not another diversion. Sergeant!"

That man stepped forward from a knot of curious guards. "Captain?"

"Go, discover what those guns engage, and bring me back the news."

"Yes, sir."

Two hundred was barely enough to make a scratch in Stane's main army, which was unlikely to be dispersed as that smaller force had been. But Stephen could put them to better use. "I need you and Rhodes and Furiast's men to be my eyes on the field. Further, I ask the spymaster herself to have the charge over that task."

Natalya's mouth curled in a vicious grin. "It will be my pleasure to take it." But her anticipation was wiped away at once by a monstrous explosion that came from right outside the gates.

The field was illuminated for an instant as if by a lightning strike. The ball of fire that rose after was not so impressive as the one that had marked the obliteration Stane's artillery, but Stephen knew with a sinking heart that a lesser blast still would have sufficed to tear apart Mainhett's mighty portcullis.

Even Natalya was shaken. "That is no diversion."

"No," Stephen said, taking his shield off his back. Anthony would be devastated to learn that he'd shown Stane the very method to split open the city's defenses. "I have a new plan, and I need Rhodes for it."

"Then it's fortunate I always carry a spare." Natalya struck her second flare and tossed it over the wall.

Stephen found his gunner-sergeant. "Have all the cannons on the outer wall turned in. Ignore the field -- I want Stane's front ranks cut down before they can reach into the city. But first show me the lightest guns you have on this wall."

"Those would be the falconets, sir, the little 'uns spread out on the curtains."

"How much does each weigh?"

"Maybe three hundred pounds."

That would do. "Organize shot and powder for them and collect it here."

Natalya said, "Rhodes arrives."

The sergeant Stephen had dispatched to the gates returned at a run, bloodied and grim-faced. "Captain, the sally port is breached! They-"

"I saw it. Return and tell the guard to put all their efforts into stoppering the flow. Aim for the field between the walls, and especially the port. That is where the enemy's advance will be most constricted. And you," he grabbed another guard, "spread the word. Everyone is to fall back to the inner wall and hold it at all costs."

"Yes, sir!"

Stephen moved to search below. Rhodes was found at once, pacing as Furiast's impassive commander held a lamp and looked on. "Rhodes!"

" _You!_ Where is Anthony?"

> _"Mother," Stephen muttered, "don't let him be rushing to defend the gates unassisted."_
> 
> _"That's an idle prayer if ever I've heard one."_
> 
> _"Curse that man's impetuous hide! When this is done I'm going to-"_

"Anthony attends the fires that rage inside," Natalya called down, sparing Stephen a troubled glance.

Stephen pushed away his worry and took to the curtain, Natalya and Rhodes both trailing him. When he reached the first falconet, he bent to examine how its trunnions were secured to the carriage, and used his shield's rim to pry apart that iron band. "Hold this." Tossing Natalya the shield, he wrested the cannon clean off its mount.

Natalya, her eyes startled wide, still thought to caution him, "Drop it breech first so that no dirt can enter into its mouth."

Stephen sought a soft patch of earth and tipped the cannon over the wall, receiving in return a yelp from Rhodes when it landed almost at his feet. Three or four men together should be able to drag it into position, and Stephen knew it could be braced on the ground to fire. At close range, the accuracy sacrificed by that method would be trifling. "Have you gunners, or will you need to borrow those from me as well?"Rhodes bent his head to consult with Furiast's commander. "We have gunners. I think I see your idea, but apprise me so that we can be in complete agreement."

The plan was simplicity itself. "Hug the wall, array your main force to the south to avoid being flanked, and employ the guns where they'll do the most harm."

Stephen strode to free the next falconet.

  
~~~~~  
  


Anthony tried the wall first, but the guards there knew even less of what transpired at the gates than Anthony could surmise himself.

That explosion had marked the second and worst half of his fears come to pass. If Mainhett's gates were breached, her fate would come down to a question of numbers -- precisely where Stane held his sole advantage.

Fires be damned, Anthony stood to lose the whole city in a single stroke. And he'd been the one to demonstrate for Stane exactly how it might be achieved.

_If I survive this night-_

No, that was far more than he deserved. But it made a fitting punishment, for as long as it lasted, to know he'd failed Mainhett more surely than his father ever had.

_Stephen, hold strong. I come to do what I can._

It doubtless would have been safer to keep to the walls, but Anthony judged it faster to mount and pelt through the streets. He took the chance of riding through the fire's path rather than swing wide around it, and found a narrow place where he could push through the smoke and crackling heat, Raina's panic adding to her speed.

The closer he rode to the gates, the greater the furor surrounding them rose, but it wasn't a trick of proximity. The fighting itself reached an awful pitch, the roar of his cannons now an undercurrent to the man-made cacophony.

Taking a corner sharply, he almost ran down a pair of guards. "You there! Why aren't you-"

Gods, they wore Stane's livery. The army had broken through.

Those foes threw down their torches to fix their pikes, shock overcome in an instant. "Here, Lord Stark is here!"

Anthony drew his sword and spurred Raina. The first pike head glanced off her breastplate, and the other sought after Anthony's blood. He ignored the rake of it on his armor, putting all his leverage and wrath-fueled strength into blows that split open a helm and nearly cleaved a head off its shoulders.

The bodies fell spasming.

_It makes no sense! Why, if the battle still rages, would Stane spare men to-_

To scour the city, salvaging anything he valued too highly to risk it being carted off in his mercenaries' plunder. And there had been a spy on the walls marking Anthony's devotion to his workshop.

Certainly that building contained things Anthony would be pained to lose -- his steel billets alone were priceless. Far worse, it housed dangerous secrets. His metallurgic notes were rendered in his own cipher, but the diagrams for casting his spiral cannon bore could be interpreted by any talented metal-crafter. And there was the design for the flares Natalya used; and sketches he'd done in the boredom of youth to improve the heavy style of arquebus. That firing mechanism had never seen a prototype, never been tested, but he knew in his gut that it would work.

Anthony would sooner die than give into Stane's hands the means to advance the very technology of warfare.

He wheeled Raina and ran.

  
~~~~~  
  


The scene at the gates was every bit as terrible as Stephen had feared. From his vantage atop the wall he could see that Mainhett's inner defenses were breached. The converging guards had managed to slow the incursion, turning the channel between walls into a mire of bodies and gore, but they were already assailed from the rear by the enemies who had cleared that gauntlet.

The more the defenders were harried, the more foes made it through, and the closer they came to being overrun. It was noose tightening toward inevitable defeat.

Stephen searched for the distinctive red and gold of Anthony's armor. When he failed to spot it, he didn't know whether to be relieved or even more distraught.

"What I wouldn't give for a pot of boiling pitch," Natalya said. Her arm flicked out, and an attacker fell clawing at the knife embedded in his throat.

The bulk of Stane's army was still outside, crushing for the break. Their press was so thick that they fell into the depression of the blast that had destroyed the portcullis and half the sally port, and clawed over each other to emerge on the other side. Rhodes' cannons firing into that mess would wreak havoc, but not soon enough to change the tide of the battle.

"It occurs to me that this would be the perfect time to finally put my blade in Stane's eye. If only I knew where he was."

Stephen brought his shield to hand. "Find Anthony. Tell him that Rhodes comes as fast as he can drag those guns."

"Wait," Natalya said, "where do you go?"

"To win us some relief." He ran to the last stable section of curtain before the jagged hole, and leaped.

  
~~~~~  
  


Anthony spied several more packs of Stane's men roaming the streets, which were otherwise deserted. Mainhett's citizens had wisely retreated behind bolted doors -- or rather, those that still owned doors to bolt had. 

He was too easily recognized, and was forced to double back once to lose a particularly tenacious pursuer. After that, he wound his way through alleys and lesser streets, until he was finally spat out within sight of home. Thank the gods, the palazzo was locked up dark and tight; he'd half expected to find it burning.

Still he hesitated, watching from the shadows until he was certain the way was clear.

The single guard remaining at his post rushed over when he noticed Anthony's approach, torch held high. "Lord Stark!"

"Where are the other two I sent here?"

"Running after a spy, last I knew. It's been nearly a quarter hour. You'd think they'd have caught the bastard by now."

Much had happened in the last quarter hour. They'd likely been countermanded to the defense of the wall. "You'll have to do. Come with me."

"My lord?"

Anthony left Raina to find her stall alone, and strode across the plaza for his workshop, digging out the key as he went. "Stane's men have reached inside the city."

"Gods! What can we do?"

When the workshop was opened, Anthony motioned the guard in first. "You can start by lighting those lamps on the wall." The man hurried to obey, and soon Anthony could see to wade for the rack where he stored his largest papers in rolled sheafs. There was no time to catalog which were harmless and which should burn; he carried them all to the furnace, kicked open its grate as was his habit even when his arms weren't full, and shoved everything inside.

"Do you require help, my lord?" The guard followed Anthony's strange labor with interest.

 _Small papers next, and then the drawing books..._ "No. What I need is for you to-" There was something familiar about the tilt of the guard's head, the curiosity in eyes that were shrewd and dark as a magpie's.

_Curse me for a fool._

"Need me to what, my lord?"

"Idiot," Anthony snapped. "You're a guard. Go stand watch at the door for foes."

"Yes, my lord," the man muttered.

"And leave me the torch." He reached for his hilt.

The Rook shifted his weight to his toes, gaze darting to Anthony's rack of tools.

"Go on, try it. I'll gut you from behind before you've taken two steps."

Never taking his attention from Anthony, the Rook tossed the torch behind him to keep it far from reach. "It was very kind of milord to open his workshop for me. I found the lock unusually troublesome, and feared I might have to wait for reinforcements to batter down the door."

"The men I sent after you?"

"Oh, I'm sure their corpses will come to light in time." He twisted one foot without raising it or otherwise moving a hair. "But probably not before they've started to rot and stink."

"Enough of this." Anthony drew his sword. The foe flung himself away, and Anthony let him, dropping his visor as he advanced in measured steps.

It was the right choice. The Rook came out of his roll with his arm extended, the knife he'd released flying straight for Anthony's face. It struck with a clang and spun harmlessly aside.

Next came the tools: tongs, hammers, even calipers made up a barrage that Anthony shrugged off with a brittle laugh. "If only you knew how I proof-tested this plate. There's nothing in the workshop you can throw with enough force to pierce it."

"Then I'll find its flaws and pierce you regardless." The Rook's blade, when he finally drew it, was light and slender as a sapling. What he lost to Anthony in reach he made up for in nimbleness and speed, remaining well away except to dart in and prick at Anthony's seams. He scored the first hit, and the second -- both inside Anthony's thigh, but not good enough to open the vital artery.

Anthony knew he wouldn't win a chase, but there was a way to reverse the game, for what did a spy value more highly than their own life but secrets? The next time the Rook flitted away, Anthony charged after the torch. When he should have turned and met the Rook's oncoming rush, he took the last stride instead and swept for the floor, presenting the attractive target of his backside.

Cursing, the Rook realized that nothing short of a fatal blow could keep the torch from Anthony's possession; and it was hardly possible to hit a man's heart through his ass. He collided with Anthony instead, the impact one that would have sent them both sprawling -- had the torch not been a feint.

Anthony barely stumbled, for he'd had his feet well planted and his knuckles braced on the ground, ready to spring himself back upright. His armor's superior articulation allowed him to twist out of the bend with his torso, as supple as if he'd been unencumbered. Left elbow raising, he clasped his hilt in a double grip, and without changing his stance pivoted straight into a brutal overhead strike.

For what it was worth, the Rook got his sword up in time to block. Anthony's steel sheared clean through the thickest part of that blade, not stopping until it had buried itself eight inches into ruined hauberk, flesh, and shattered collarbone.

The spy toppled with a cry, losing his useless hilt to clutch at the steel sprouting from his chest; the cry became a raw-throated scream when Anthony wrenched his blade free.

As that sound died, there came from the workshop door a slow clapping, as of grudging applause.

Anthony spun, and there was Stane, a dozen of his best guards pouring in around him to seal Anthony's escape with their leveled halberds.

  
~~~~~  
  


Stephen's leap flattened three foes, and their struggles in turn brought down four more to be trampled by the press of their fellows behind them. The sally port's ruined stones made the footing treacherous, and the fallen timbers of the lift that had worked the portcullis was a further impediment, allowing no more than four men abreast to squeeze through the narrow passage.

One man, if he was Stephen, might hold it indefinitely.

He could have been overwhelmed if the foes already gone ahead hadn't failed to either notice or care what transpired behind them -- although it was possible that Stephen's repute was such that those who saw him would sooner pretend they hadn't.

The very front rank of attackers he faced were certainly unhappy to find him in their path. It was dark enough in the tunnel that even Stephen couldn't read their expressions, but their shrinking posture was clear. Then a sergeant's shout rose from the morass, and the surge renewed, driving those unwilling foes into Stephen's shield.

There was little room to swing a sword, and none at all to wield a pike. The slashes and shots that did come at Stephen he trusted his armor to take, staying behind his shield not for its protection, but so that he could throw his full weight into battering down the fresh ranks as they came. He hammered right, then left, then right again, each impact a resounding crunch. Helmet brims were flattened, noses and jaws broken, breastplates caved in, bone and limbs crushed -- until the floor was carpeted too thick with the fallen and Stephen had no choice but to give way.

Some wounded foes made to crawl around him, while other, cannier ones sought to tangle his legs and pull him down. Worse, the army's success at pressing him back even those few steps bolstered their resolve, forcing Stephen to yield more ground almost at once. He stole a glance behind him and saw that he was already halfway to where the inner doors hung splintered on their hinges. He could afford to fall back once, maybe twice more before he'd be pushed out into the channel that was raked by fire from his own cannons.

_Damn, where is Rhodes?_

Stephen snagged up an escaping crawler by that man's baldric, tossing him back amongst his brethren. If not for that brief moment he spent emerged from behind his shield, he would have missed seeing a large, squat shape roll over the lip of the ruined ceiling and tumble into the thick of the enemy.

The shape -- _barrel,_ his mind supplied -- had a tail of fire.

Cursing, Stephen went down to one knee, tucking as much of himself as he could behind his shield in the instant before the powder keg exploded.

The blast loosened more stones from the ruined defenses, and sprayed gore and fire in all directions. Stephen felt the patter against his shield, and was licked by the flames that curled around it. Screams of pain and horror lingered in his ringing ears. Then Natalya was dropping down beside him to survey the carnage she'd created.

He rose, flicking his shield, and tried not to notice the bloody gobs that slid off its face. "That powder would have been better served in the guns," he told her.

"You're welcome for the reprieve!" Indifferent to the chaos, she drew her weapons. The main was a long poignard, the off-hand partner a thick, ugly blade.

"I am grateful, but you should have remained with Anthony!"

"He's nowhere to be found." Natalya went to the nearest wounded, writhing foe and dispensed her mercy. "I helped clear the forward wall far enough to spy Rhodes' progress. He's nearly set. We won't have to hold here much longer."

That news might have lifted Stephen's heart were it not chained down by a more personal and immediate fear.

Where in this nightmare was Anthony?

  
~~~~~  
  


Armor or no, Anthony knew that so many halberds used to coordinated effort would bring him down with ease, so he tried not to let Stane's guards make a formation around him. Luckily, obstacles were in abundance, but he dared not shelter behind any one for too long lest he be cornered.

For their part, the guards seemed content to follow the slow, almost stately chase around the workshop; but if the excuse or order came, they would doubtless close for the kill.

Stane wouldn't order it yet. He was reveling too much in the moment. "Anthony, Anthony... what was it you called my terms, a shit-pile? You should have eaten it when you had the chance."

Anthony dared not look to the furnace stuffed with papers, for as long as Stane didn't notice his plan, there was a chance he could still carry it through. Gods, but there was so much that fire wouldn't destroy. As the situation stood, the whole workshop would have to burn to assure that Stane would recover none of Anthony's secrets.

He began to work on how he might set such a blaze.

"I could almost believe you don't hear a word I say."

"Oh, I do," Anthony told Stane. "It's just that I don't listen."

Stane inquired most pleasantly, "How do you enjoy knowing that it was your very ingenuity that showed me how to breach your impregnable gates?" When the Rook's moaning tried to interrupt him, he waved his hand with distaste, sending a guard to silence the spy for good.

Anthony gritted his teeth, circling his anvil to keep it between him and the nearest guard. He was blocked in the side of the workshop that held his forge, far from his shelves of chemicals. If he could only work his way to them...

"Because I must admit, that irony has given me tremendous satisfaction. Do you know what else will?"

"Please tell me so that I can ensure it will never happen."

Stane, perhaps sensing Anthony's intent, wandered near those shelves. He browsed the bottle labels as if bored. "Watching you spend the rest of your life doing my work from a prison cell. Humiliation and ruin -- I believe that was what you promised me."

Anthony raised his visor to glare at Stane. "I'd sooner die."

"Also acceptable." Stane made a show of turning his attention to Anthony's work table, which might have been his goal all along, for he picked up the gold chest at once. "Clever Rook. He did say that at the first sign of trouble, you'd be sure to run safeguard your valuables." He turned the box upside down to show that it was empty. "Where is the jewel of power?"

"You're deceived. There is no jewel." Oh, if only there'd been time to finish that trap! Anthony had been hard pressed to figure how he might put it in Stane's hands, never imagining that the accursed man would march in and steal it.

Stane told the guards, "Stark wears it on him. Take him and find it."

Anthony backed to the wall, waving his sword at the ever-tightening circle of guards. "Yes!" he shouted to Stane, "by all means, let your men search me."

"Have you swallowed it? It's a small matter to gut you and see."

Some of the guards held torches. Extinguishing the workshop lamps would gain Anthony nothing. What other distraction was near? The frame that held his mighty bellows? His crucible's chain brakes? "You misunderstand. Recall that the jewel must be given willingly."

"I recall that a minute ago you claimed it did not exist," Stane said. "Your lies are tiresome and reek of desperation."

"Then give me the opportunity to bestow the power you crave on one of your lowly servants instead," Anthony taunted. "I'll do it to spite you, I swear!" He called to one of the guards, "You! I like the look of your face. How would you like to own the elixir of immortality? If that's not enough to convince you, it will also put the very elements under your command, and transform lead into gold."

"Stand away from him!" Stane roared. He threw down the gold box and all but raced to where Anthony was pinned, drawing his sword as he came.

The guards were slow to obey, the one Anthony had addressed most of all.

Anthony shook his head, as if delivering a sad lesson. "The problem with purchasing loyalty is that another buyer can always offer a better price."

Stane's mind worked furiously for a moment, until his his whole expression was overtaken by a triumphant calm.

Anthony's heart clenched in his chest as if the old weakness still afflicted it.

"Then, the problem with sentimentality is that the fools who hold it count it dear enough to preserve at any price." Stane's order was for his guards, but he stared at Anthony while he gave it. "Half of you enter Lord Stark's house. Bring his steward, the red-haired harlot. Kill any others you find."

"No!"

Ignoring Anthony's cry, six guards broke away for the door. The six that remained were more than his match. He might reach Stane if he charged, heedless of danger; but it was more likely he'd end up choking on his own blood while his household perished, with Virginia dragged in to witness final tortured moments.

If only he could drop his foundry crucible on Stane's head. That earthen vessel was large enough to melt the tons of bronze needed to cast a culverin in a single pour. But the two chains holding it were attached by a wide spacer arm, to prevent the smelting heat from weakening them. Each chain by itself was strong enough to hold the crucible when empty, so they would both need to be severed at once.

The chain brakes were bolted to the wall with less than two feet between them. It would take a tremendous blow, but also a precisely aimed one, and even then Anthony wasn't certain that his best steel was up to the test.

There was only one way to find out. He gripped his sword and rushed off the wall with a wordless yell, causing Stane to stumble back in surprise.

 _That's perfect, you bastard, stay right where you are!_

The guards formed up around their master, halberds fixed, and indeed it must have seemed that Anthony meant to impale himself and take an honorable death. It left his path clear as he turned and ran the few steps to his goal, sword raised over his right shoulder.

Every shred of strength he had went into the swing. He stepped into it with his weight, arms extended to their fullest, sight never leaving the link he'd chosen for his target. The workshop wall stopped his sword hard, nearly wrenching it from his hands; because it was his steel, the blade stayed intact where any other would have shattered. Its point dug into stone, spitting the far chain clean through in a spray of sparks, but the near chain... he hadn't struck hard enough, or far enough down the blade. The near chain was only pinched to the wall, saved from the brunt of his sword's edge by his own gods-damned crossguard.

There were shouts as Stane and his men realized Anthony's plan and flung themselves aside. The loose chain whipped for the ceiling beam, causing the crucible to shiver and swing, turned on its side. Anthony swore and ripped his sword free, readying for a second blow that wouldn't come in time. Stane was already crawling clear.

> _"Wait."_

The command seemed to come from within as well as without. Anthony heard it, felt its touch in his mind as his limbs seized by their own volition. He saw the guards righting themselves -- they'd be on him in an instant, but if he ran for the door there were only the six there who'd turned back in confusion. He might-

> _"Strike now!"_

Anthony swung. It wasn't clean, he only mangled the link, but it still snapped from the strain it bore. The speed of that second chain running through the block pulley tore it apart, letting the crucible fall free at the very end of its short, ponderous arc.

Reading in a flash what would happen next, Anthony could only stand dumbfounded and watch the bizarre play unfold. The second chain tangled in the lesser ones supporting his furnace vents, tearing out brackets and, with absurd inevitability, pulling his flues down along with half the chimney. Debris slammed into a column, sliding it crooked on its base; while the crucible came down with all its weight on the beam supported by that same column and buckled it like straw.

The column failed, taking with it the continuation of the cross beam, which in turn ripped the whole joint out of the next column in line. Soot and masonry dust rained down as the entire workshop shuddered to its foundation... and with a terrible crack the weakened wall began to topple.

  
~~~~~  
  


Natalya required but a moment to learn the rhythm of Stephen's work. Then she was darting around him, employing her knives to vicious effect on the foes already stunned and battered by his shield.

It was disconcerting to learn that she held a particular enmity for eyes.

In a way, her assistance made their position in the passage worse, for Stephen alone had left mostly wounded in his wake. Now the dead piled twice as fast.

Stephen backed a step, yielding some of their last, precious ground. They were nearly pressed into the open.

The enemy knew it, tasting victory that had come at a steep cost.

"Stephen..." Natalya warned. She clung to the wall, unprotected against the shots that were sure to come the instant Stane's men broke into the open. The defending cannons had quieted, hopefully for a lack of targets, but they were doubtless primed and ready. The volley made by all firing at once would be devastating.

He heard a discharge and thought it began. Then a second sounded, and he placed the source as outside the walls.

"Rhodes," Natalya said, standing straighter. "Gods, I could kiss that bastard."

The enemy faltered, confused to hear artillery where there should be none. Stephen could imagine what the scene must look like before the gates, two pair of cannons firing from short range into the army's soft flank. "We're not clear yet. Can you run?"

Natalya looked Stephen over. "I guarantee faster than you."

"Head straight for the far wall. I'll shield you."

"You'd better."

Stephen raised his shield, Natalya ducking beneath it, and together they ran into the killing field. There was only a moment's hesitation from the defenders, some of the guards likely recognizing Stephen's armor even in the gloom. Then Stane's army broke free as if released from a floodgate, and the guns roared in unison, cutting nearly everything within that channel to ribbons.

Natalya and Stephen crawled along the far wall, Natalya taking shelter as much from Stephen's armored bulk as his shield. The smaller gate leading into the city itself was quite distant, but they managed to reach it mostly unscathed; and Stephen was pleased to discover that it had been hastily re-fortified after Stane's initial rush had broken through.

The guards holding it were appalled to see their captain appear on the wrong side, and quickly made a gap to admit the weary pair.

In the welcome torchlight, Stephen noticed Natalya holding her side. "Are you-"

"It's a scratch."

"Captain!"

"Pass the word. _Do not_ fire outside the walls. We have allies come to join us. You'll know them by their black livery."

"It's actually a very deep blue," Natalya said.

"Give me the latest news. Where is my sergeant of the south wall?"

"Among the fallen, gods rest his soul."

"Has anyone seen-"

> _"Stephen."_
> 
> _Her solemn tone made Stephen's head snap up, and the next breath he took was like drinking not air but fear._
> 
> _"Stane is dead."_
> 
> _"Dead? How?"_

"Aye, dead. Took a pike in the throat," the guard elaborated.

Stephen wet his lips, but it couldn't help his voice from shaking. "Not the sergeant. Lord Stane."

Natalya repeated, "Stane. Is dead."

"Yes."

"How in the hells can you possibly know that?"

"Just now, my blessed Mother told me."

> _"There is more, but you must see it for yourself. Come to Anthony's workshop with all the haste you can muster."_

"I-" Stephen gripped Natalya's shoulder. "I give you command of the guards."

Natalya shook him off, growing angry. "You can't abandon your duty, not now of all times!"

"My duty is to Anthony, and I am summoned to him in his need. You have the guards," he said again, and left.

  
~~~~~  
  


"Don't let go."

It was dark, so dark. Anthony's throat tasted of chalk, and swallowing only added the tang of blood. "Is my nose broken?"

"Yes. You should have thought to drop your visor before allowing a wall three stories high to fall on top of you." The voice sounded amused, with only a touch of reproach.

Damn, there was something he was supposed to remember, something important. "Is Stane...?"

"There's far more vital parts of him than his nose broken. If you haven't realized, your ankle is as well. Try not to move it."

"Move it?" Anthony asked. "I can't feel it." He wiggled his fingers to rearrange his grip, causing more dust to trickle down between the stones and onto his face. If only it was real rain. "Can't feel either of them. Which one?"

"The left. Don't let go also means don't allow it to shift."

Anthony agreed, "I won't," despite that the strain was already making his arms tremble. "Is my household safe?"

"Yes."

"And my city?"

"She has taken grievous harm, but she will survive. Even now Stane's army breaks, and soon the last of his soldiers will be purged from your walls."

"No thanks to me." That news was all he needed to set his mind at ease. Perhaps, having heard it, he could let go. "You're Stephen's Mother, aren't you?" 

"Stephen is but one of my children. Did it truly take you this long to fathom me?"

No. In honesty, he'd known all along, like an axiom he'd always held. "But he is your favorite."

"His essence is remarkable."

"Am I to die? Is that why you speak to me?" There was no alarm or regret to the thought, only curiosity.

"I speak to you so that you may live. Do you wish to see me as well?"

Anthony wished to see anything. His perception in the dark was reduced to that of enormous weight bearing down on him. "Please."

There came a glow, so faint at first he was sure he imagined it, and with it was the barest trace of that fresh, sweet scent he recalled from the tomb. It seemed so long ago, that moment he'd first laid eyes on Stephen. He chuckled weakly, appreciating that he was yet again enclosed in rock, flat on his back with a bloodied nose.

The glow intensified, silvery and pure as moonlight, and he could make out the thick wooden beam that his arms held at bay above his throat. Worse, he knew where it -- or one exactly like it -- had belonged in the building's construction. Why hadn't it crushed him? It was so heavy that his arms should not be able to support it for a second.

That doubt made his wrists ache and tremble. Cold sweat stood out on his brow.

"Don't look there. See me instead."

Anthony turned his head a fraction. She was reclined next to him, yet at the same time she wasn't, for there were also tumbled stones occupying the space with her. Likewise, the hand she held to his breast appeared to pass through his cuirass, and he felt the warmth of her touch against his bare skin as if no other sensation existed for him.

"You are every bit as striking as Stephen made you," he murmured. "It's no wonder you own his heart."

"Own, no. Share, yes." The look she gave him was so pointed there could be no mistaking her meaning. "Even now he comes for you, so you must remain strong. It would be a terrible sin to disappoint him." 

"I am already stronger than I have any right to be. How-"

Her fingers stirred where she touched him, and she reminded, "This is not the first time I've lent you my aid."

Anthony recalled that night he and Stephen had made a run for the gates, how she'd kissed him with a promise. "But why? You are-" Even with the number of times he owed her intervention for his life, he still couldn't say it. "It occurs to me that I would not have need of your strength if you would simply shift the beam yourself."

"I only ever work through my children. And you are less confounded by that revelation than you pretend," she said knowingly.

"It does make for an... interesting interpretation of the past month," Anthony would admit.

"Oh, I have recognized you as one of mine for far longer than that."

"Somehow that is the opposite of comforting." Yet in it all he almost forgot that his arms were exhausted, and that one slip spelled his death. "No wonder Stephen is so strange at times, to have you whispering in his ear."

Her smile was almost menacing, for all its sweetness. "I told him, you know. About the sapphires and gold."

Anthony groaned, "Gods, of course you did."

"You call on the divine often -- in facetiousness, yes -- but you might have more caution in the future, lest you gain my attention when you least desire it."

Now there was a warning Anthony would take to heart.

"Stephen arrives," she told him. "Hold a little longer and he'll have you free."

Anthony knew too well that it could be hours of digging through rubble before he was unearthed. Then again, what was one small miracle against his existing debt? He doubtless owed his fortune in alms.

"It has been many years since I had an orphanage dedicated in my name," she suggested.

"Is that so? After tonight, my city will have no shortage of need for one, and ample space to build it."

"Stephen will find you. He follows my light."

Indeed, there came the clatter of plate against stone, and the debris about Anthony shifted ominously. 

"Anthony!" Stephen cried. "Oh, Mother..."

"Here, I'm here!" Anthony called, or tried to. His voice issued as an odd croak. "Have care, the stones move. But hurry!"

Stephen flung rock and iron and wood with abandon, muttering some prayer all the while. At first, all that came was the sound of it crashing about, but then a gap widened above Anthony's head, and he saw the most welcome sight he'd had in his life: the silver star emblazoned on Stephen's cuirass.

"Anthony-"

"The timber, get the timber."

Stephen scrambled on his hands and knees, opening the pocket around Anthony until he could wedge his shield inside, shoring up the monstrous beam.

Anthony's arms dropped at once, feeling limp and useless as rags. "I think there's more of me pinned." But not crushed, thanks to his armor.

"A minute longer and I'll have you," Stephen promised. He disappeared to work lower.

Anthony turned his gaze to the shield's face, where, just for an instant, he imagined he could glimpse its maker's reflection

Then Stephen returned, and Anthony was dragged into the clear, hissing and complaining of his injuries all the while. He struggled to raise himself up and pry off his helm, the visor askew on its hinges.

Stephen meanwhile had shed his gauntlets, and took Anthony's face between his hands so that he might hold it still for examination, his thumbs wiping away blood and grime.

"How bad is my nose?" Anthony asked. "Are my looks ruined?"

Stephen gaped at him only for a moment, recovering in a flash to pull Anthony up and kiss him. The first was angry and unyielding, but the next was a long, soft apology. He whispered something against Anthony's mouth that Anthony couldn't hear through his own unseemly laughter.

Then Anthony made his useless arms obey, hugging Stephen around the neck while he laughed and laughed, so hard that his eyes grew damp.

  
~~~~~  
  


Anthony remembered being shoved into the saddle, his leg dangling splinted and awkward. Stephen had insisted -- and he had agreed -- that it should be the charger to carry him, for that beast was likely to be more gentle and obedient than Raina.

He remembered the disheartening ride for the gates, detouring to witness the still-burning remnants of two city wards. Then the greater carnage at the wall itself -- the dead thick on the ground, and the survivors beginning to take stock of their own lost and wounded.

There was the reunion with his friends, Anthony unable to dismount and make it a proper one. Joyeux still hugged and patted Anthony's uninjured leg; while Rhodes waited slightly apart with dignified jealousy and a scowl that promised he would catch Anthony later, though for embracing or scolding wasn't clear. Probably both.

He recalled being introduced to Furiast's commander, saying his thanks to those allies who had taken back Mainhett's gates and held there until no more opposition came against them. And with the tired light of dawn, he saw the remnants of Stane's army, milling headless and harrowed well away from the walls. Stane's own guards seemed hardest hit, for they would have to carry back to Heppouge the tidings that they still struggled to believe, while the more pragmatic mercenaries crept away in droves to lick their wounds.

Anthony was there to give Virginia back her spymaster, only slightly worse for wear; and to see his whole household turned out in organizing dispensation for Mainhett's pressing needs.

He remembered thinking that his work would never be done, and knowing that his recompense could never be complete. Yet for every slip he'd made toward despondency, Stephen had been there with a word or a touch, or even just a glance of silent commiseration.

The eventual return to the palazzo, though... that remained vivid, for it had involved the ghastly business of removing splint and armor. There was no memory at all of how he'd come to be in his own bed, curiously bathed and tended, or when Stephen might have likewise crawled in to join him.

Anthony blinked, rubbed his eyes, blinked again.

No, Stephen still watched him from the opposite pillow, looking barely awake himself. He had a healing gash on his jaw, and a less physical bruising about his eyes, but his appearance was otherwise the most welcome news possible. "Good evening," he said, retreating to decorum by habit.

Anthony would have none of that. "So late? It's unlike you to laze the day away."

"You're right, I have a thousand matters to attend, and you a thousand more." Although Stephen made no move to rise.

Anthony caught his hand, pressing lips first to the back, then turning it to uncurl fingers and kiss the palm. "There, you have the first settled, and the second," he said, "and I think I spy the third within reach."

Stephen, for once, neither feigned incomprehension nor seemed at all uneasy. Indeed, he might have concealed the slightest smile.

"Have you told him yet?"

"There hasn't been time," Stephen said, raising himself up.

"Told me what?" Anthony wasn't certain he wanted to know.

The Mother alighted at the foot of the bed, ignoring Stephen's growing bewilderment to give Anthony the question again. "Have you told him our arrangement?"

Anthony sat up. Arrangement? What arrangement?

"We have decided between us-" She gave Anthony a look that dared him to contradict. "-that Mainhett requires enough good and needful work to occupy even my champion's tireless hands for quite some time."

 _Ah._ "Months," Anthony added in agreement. "Perhaps years. Let us just say indefinitely."

"So you may stop fretting over the thought of taking the road again," she told her abashed paladin. "I disturbed you from your rest once; take this peace as your due."

Stephen bowed his head. "If that is my Mother's will."

"It is," she said, and was gone.

Perhaps Anthony did wish to know after all. "What wasn't there time to tell me?"

"Nothing," Stephen assured, though his face was full of wonder. "It's no matter now."

~~~~~

**Author's Note:**

> Historical notes (spoilers contained herein):
> 
> Mainhett exists in a (generally parallel) alternate universe. We'll call it the late sixteenth/early seventeenth century, although I admit to flagrant history squishing as the impulse arose.
> 
> This is the first and last time I'll write an entire fic in faux-period prose.
> 
> Alchemy was a catch-all protoscience combining chemistry, metallurgy, medicine, physics, astrology, etc. It's a modern notion to view those as distinct and separate areas of study, so it would have been more correct but confusing for Anthony to refer to himself as an alchemist. 
> 
> Alchemy's magnum opus was the (grand) arcanum, or philosopher's stone. It was believed to be one (or more) of the following: the means to transmute base metals into gold; a universal solvent; a universal remedy; the elixir of life; the unifying secret to explain how nature works.
> 
> Anthony may be a literal renaissance man, but he still doesn't paint. I'll go ahead and claim that he would be a fan of Paracelsus, who made nifty advances in toxicology among other things. Foxglove is another name for digitalis, although it doesn't appear in medical literature as a treatment for heart conditions until the eighteenth century.
> 
> Anthony's red steel is fictional, but wootz/damascus steel is of course real. Modern recreations abound, but it has yet to be duplicated. Meteoric iron (ie, the fallen star) is easy to spot in the archaeological record due to its relatively high nickel content.
> 
> Plate armor and firearms/cannons existed concurrently on the battlefield for a couple centuries. There was something of an arms race to upgrade armor as the stopping power of firearms increased. Fortifications also evolved as taller, medieval-style walls proved no match for artillery.
> 
> I blame Machiavelli for so, so much.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] Adamant](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137931) by [exmanhater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exmanhater/pseuds/exmanhater)




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